


Trap of the Panther

by lvscmine



Series: Become My Remedy [2]
Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: ChalxChan, F/M, T'Challa (Marvel) Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-16 08:29:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14160819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lvscmine/pseuds/lvscmine
Summary: Getting feelings involved wasn’t a part of the plan, though.Previously posted from my tumblr account.





	1. Temptation

**Author's Note:**

> Song Inspiration: Temptation x Destiny's Child.

Chanel loved friendly visits.

It had been about a year since she graduated from college, and she had quickly solidified a life for herself after making the big move from Los Angeles back to her hometown. Washington D.C. was a timeless place to her and between her family and her job down at a prestigious law firm, she had every reason to return to the nation’s capital. Plus, it’d be a good place to raise her son. However, it was so very lonely without her best friend.

Chanel met Leah the first day of Freshman orientation at UCLA, and the two seemed to become fast friends immediately. Opposites attracted—while Leah seemed to be the more level-headed and reserved of the duo, Chanel was bold and opinionated almost to the point of being abrasive. Despite the differences the two leaned on one another to get through finals, crazy professors, study crams and general college drama. They were as thick as thieves and ran together like a unit. It was no wonder why the two were always a problem during the exchange program.

Chanel had never even heard of Wakanda before—Leah knew of it to be a third-world country, but apparently looks were highly deceiving. They signed up to study there together in the last six months of their degree program; while Leah was looking to get a degree to help with her career in foreign affairs, Chanel wanted to be one of the best lawyers in the country. When they were both accepted in, Chanel spent half a year in what she felt was the grandest place on earth to date. The only thing she regretted about the experience was that her son couldn’t experience it.

It was in those six months that she met another man that would become her best friend. King T’Challa was intimidating to most of the students, mostly because of his position as the head of the country. Beneath the regal robes laid a warm-natured man that had one of the most forgiving hearts Chanel had come to know. He had to be a forgiving man for not kicking Chanel, Leah, and their mutual friend Danielle out of the program for the troubles they got into. Sneaking off in the palace was tempting, and daring Chanel was always the orchestrator of the plans to explore Wakanda as it needed to be explored. She even went as far as pulling pranks and good-natured jokes on the King himself. It was always either the Queen Mother Ramonda or Royal Advisor Erik that chewed her out, but never T’Challa. He always took it as a champ.

That’s where their friendship initially started. She wasn’t sure how things got so...odd. Now, it had been nearly a year since she had been in Wakanda and since she had last seen him personally. She’d be hosting him, his Advisor, and the Advisor’s Assistant at her home for dinner that evening, though—she wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

Leah was a fucking overachiever if Chanel ever met one. Pristine grades and a likeability that was almost unreal got you places, and Leah somehow nabbed a job to assist that stick in the mud of a man. She got to live in a great country and be around fucking royalty; sometimes, Chanel was jealous. But for the most part, she was just happy that her best friend was gaining victories in her life. As for Chanel, she was content with her life despite the small doses of envy. Her place wa in D.C. with her family. Maybe one day she’d return to Wakanda with her son in tow, to allow him to see just how beautiful the world could be.

Chanel took a couple days off from work to truly prepare for the arrival of the Wakandan Royals—she cleaned her home and did her best to make a grand dinner for everyone to enjoy. Between that, she was balancing doctor appointments for her mother and pre-school transportation for her son. Even when she wasn’t working at the firm, she was always working.

“I’m hungry,” A small voice rang through the kitchen, and Chanel glanced down at the small boy that tapped at her leg. “The food ready yet?” Innocent brown eyes stare up at her, and she chuckled as she ran a hand over his freshly twisted hair.

“Almost, baby. Then we have to wait until the guests get here,” Chanel looked back to the bubbling roux in front of her. She licked over her lips before she stirred the stew, her shoulders tensing a bit when she heard the knock on the door.

“Auntie’s here! Auntie’s here!” The boy bolted off in what seemed like an instant.

“Leon!” She placed the spoon down on the holder she had set up for it, her heels clicking against the linoleum floor as she took off her apron and hurried towards the front foyer. She took a quick glance in the mirror and ran a hand over her micro-sized twists, baring her teeth to make sure her lipstick hadn’t stained the white enamel. When all felt and looked correct, she walked to the door and opened it, revealing two people she wasn’t entirely longing to see.

The two bald soldiers seemed to soften their expressions at the sight of little Leon, who cowered behind his mother’s leg. “Greetings again, Miss Chanel,” One of the soldiers said.

“Okoye,” Chanel greeted softly, trying not to look the woman directly in the eyes. Chanel couldn’t even count how many times she had been scolded and apprehended by this woman for her shenanigans back in Wakanda.

The soldiers stepped aside, and Chanel’s face lit up when Leah’s came into view. Shrieks of happiness broke into the air, and the two embraced each other with immense warmth. “Oh my God, I missed you so much!” Chanel swooned, rocking the girl from side to side.

“I missed you!” Leah agreed before they pulled away, and she grinned as she swooped Leon into her arms. “Hi, auntie’s baby! I missed you, too,” Leah kissed all over Leon’s face as she walked inside, the toddler’s laughter echoing through the house.

The next to walk inside the house was Advisor Stevens, and Chanel was instantly put off by his imposing energy. Silent and somber, he reached out to shake Chanel’s hand. “You been behaving?” Even with his stoic tone, the playful glint in his eyes caused Chanel to relax...slightly.

“I always behave, boy. Don’t play,” She giggled softly as she arched her brow. “Missed me?”

The man scoffed softly. “Barely,” He mumbled, and she chuckled as he passed her.

Chanel watched as the last guest crossed the threshold, and she slowly closed the door as she glanced the King over. He still looked the same—he had some stress lines here and there, but he was just as he remembered. He still smelled like berries and burning wood, and he still made her tingle all over her body. “T’Challa,” She tried to sound casual, but she could hear her own longing. God, she missed this man.

His smile melted her insides, and his tender embrace nearly brought her to tears. “I have missed you, my friend,” He mumbled into her ear, and her nails gently dug into his tunic.

“I missed you,” She agreed, completely vulnerable.

As quick as he came for the hug, he pulled away, and he placed a hand upon the small of her back as the two walked deeper into the home. “This is a very lovely home, Miss Chanel,” He complimented.

There were hors d'oeuvres set up on the coffee table—Erik had already popped three spinach-stuffed pastries into his big ass mouth, it seemed. “Who drugs you selling for a place like this?” It was a joke, Chanel could tell.

“Shut up,” Chanel chuckled before she sat down next to Leah, who was dotng on Leon as she always did when she saw the boy. “It’s a perk of being a lawyer,” She watched T’Challa take a seat in one of her lounging chairs and she tried not to stare. “But how are you all? Everything must be boring without me there,” She chuckled.

“It’s not,” Erik contrasted.

“It is,” Leah spoke in unison.

“Oh, I see you two are still arguing,” Chanel waved a dismissive hand, her cackling laugh causing T’Challa to do the same.

“The more things change, the more they stay the same,” T’Challa commented, brusing his thumb against his nose briefly. “But, all is well in Wakanda. We are working hard to break ground with helping other countries, and the work dynamic has been harmonious thus far,” Chanel was glad about it—Leah and Erik hardly ever got along when they were in the study program, so Chanel often wondered how they’d manage to work together. “How is Washington D.C.? Everything has been good here, yes?”

“It’s been fine. Just been working and taking care of this little one,” Chanel smiled down at Leon before gently tapping his nose, causing him to grin.

“Ah, and who is this strong young man, hm?” T’Challa’s whole aura was brimming as he addressed Leon.

“I’m Leon,” Leon played with the sleeve of Leah’s blouse as he spoke. “I’m four.”

“You four, huh?” Erik seemed to be surveying the child, but Chanel noticed that his usual calculated body language was nonexistent when addressing Leon. Obviously, both men had a different energy with children. “So you the man of the house?”

“Uh-huh!” Leon said, and deep chuckles came from both of the men.

“Sounds like you are in good hands, rockhead,” Erik teased, and Chanel sucked her teeth, trying not to smile at the vague compliment.

After some wine and conversation, everyone dug into a meal that consisted of the small amount of Wakandan cuisine that Chanel had learned during her travels. More conversation seemed to take place during dinner and with time, everyone seemed to be in a loosened and jovial mood.

Eventually, Chanel broke from the group to take Leon upstairs for bed—the boy was already knocked out by the time she hit the top steps. Walking into his bedroom, she began to undress him and change him into his pajamas before she placed him into his bed and tucked him in. Rubbing his hair, she smiled before she leaned over and kissed his temple.

“It is quite odd,” Chanel jumped at the soft bass that rattled her bones. “Seeing you this way.”

She turned around to see T’Challa leaning in the door frame, his arm casually rested against the wood. The top button of his tunic was loosened, and she could see the subdued buzz from the wine in his gaze. Chanel inwardly cursed; the simple image of him watching her seemed to be so sexy to her.

“You’re used to me being a loudmouth, I know,” Their soft chuckles danced together as she approached him. “You left those two alone?” She asked.

“They turned on the news and...” T’Challa cleared his throat. “It has come to my attention that the one thing that N’Jadaka and Leah _can_ agree on is how much they hate your nation’s President,” He shook his head before cracking a smile. “They’ll be discussing that for quite a while.”

“Why won’t they just fuck already? Jeez,” Chanel commented, backing T’Challa out of Leon’s bedroom before shutting the door behind them. “But since we’re here, you want to come out to the balcony with me?” She asked.

“Lead the way,” Chanel’s hand nimbly slipped into T’Challa’s before she led him towards the common sitting area of the second floor. Opening the French doors, she allowed the cool Spring wind to hit her warm body, stepping out onto the balcony before allowing the King to join her.

The night was quiet; living in a middle-class neighborhood had that perk. The wind rustled through the trees and the moon was bright. The balcony was the one thing that made Chanel sign the lease for the house—from here, she could watch the sunset and glance to stars she knew were there but couldn’t see. It was a reminder of what she missed.

“So, how’s Shuri? She texts me more often than I can keep up with, but how is she really?” Chanel knew that Shuri dealt with a lot. A girl that smart would always have pressure on her shoulders. But there was always something else...something guarded and tragic in her eyes.

“She is well, or at least, that is what she tells me. You know how teenagers can be,” T’Challa had been focused on the sky above, cloudy and starless. “And my mother sends her love. She requests that you stay out of trouble,” He smiled.

Chanel giggled softly before she shook her head. “Now, when do I ever get in trouble?” The skeptical click of T’Challa’s tongue caused her to let out a cackle.

“You were a headache! It is a wonder why you did not get kicked out of the program,” T’Challa shook his head with a light laugh.

“Because I’m smart as fuck, that’s why! As long as I did my work, people could deal with a little trouble. Plus, I never harmed anyone, give me some credit,” She insisted.

“Alright, alright—I will give you that,” Chanel’s eyes met T’Challa’s; those fiery flames returned and cemented in her marrow. She could feel his gaze all over body. “You are a brilliant woman, Miss Chanel,” His tone was still soft.

“That means a lot coming from such a brilliant man,” She countered, and her lips curled into a smirk when she noted his bashful body language. “Don’t tell me the illustrious Black Panther is getting shy on me,” She always knew he was shy, and it was something she took advantage of—in good nature of course. It was something about his gentleness that drew her to him.

“I am not. I’m just flattered by your words,” T’Challa cocked a brow before he walked towards one of the patio chairs, taking a seat before relaxing. “Hm. It feels nice out here,” Gravel laced his voice due to exhaustion and wine, and Chanel nearly moaned out loud.

“That’s the wine fucking with you. Lightweight,” Chanel teased him as she sat down in the other pato chair.

“Three glasses of wine are not considered ‘light,’” He argued. “However, I’m thankful you had wine to serve. Most bring out harder liquor immediately,” He slouched a bit in his seat.

“Are you a different man with hard liquor?” Chanel was never afraid to ask bold questions, but the amused expression on T’Challa’s face made her second guess herself. She wasn’t sure if he was aware of her attraction to him—that raw and unethical attraction that could get both her and him in a load of shit. There were lines she wasn’t trying to cross, but he made it so hard to care about the consequences.

“Possibly. I would not know, however. I do not allow those types of slip ups,” His tone dripped with another type of response.

_‘Wouldn’t you like to know,’_ was what Chanel picked up.

Now her mind was racing with those thoughts that plagued her for a month after she returned to America. There were the thoughts of his mouth on her body, or him stretching her out as he claimed her body for himself. There were the thoughts of his regal tone stripped down to throaty grunts and groans, moaning her name as she mounted him. There were thoughts of him pinning her to whatever he could, proving to her why he was the King.

Her thighs were on fire now from how harshly she rubbed them together. Her hormones were fucked. One of her best friends just _had_ to be her type, didn’t they?

* * *

 

“Tell your mama goodbye,” Israel was a high school sweetheart of Chanel’s; her first boyfriend, and her first time. It was just her luck that she’d end up being the mother of his first child, and even more of her luck that the two barely got along anymore. Everything was for the sake of Israel and nothing more.

“Bye mama,” Leon hugged Chanel’s leg, and she scooped him off the ground before kissing his forehead.

“Be good for your daddy,” She instructed, running her hand over the top of his twists before passing him off the Israel. Two weeks without her partner in crime would be a drag, but she would find a way to fill the time until he returned. “You need anything? Some extra money, or...?” She remembered her mother scolding her for not putting Israel on child support, but she didn’t need it so she didn’t take it. Plus, Israel was active and handled most things on his end perfectly. A good boyfriend, he was not, but Chanel couldn’t have asked for a better father for her son.

“Nah, I got it. Thanks though,” He kept his tone formal before he waved her goodbye, carrying Leon off to the car. Chanel watched by the front door until the car was gone, as she always did.

Once she reentered the house, she turned on the television to block out her thoughts; those same lonely thoughts that seemed to come about when she was alone. The TV was still set to CNN from the night before, and she crossed her arms over her chest as an interview took place with what American Media was calling ‘Wakanda’s Dynamic Duo.’

Chanel had to admit, T’Challa and Erik worked great together. They represented two different kinds of minds and two different kinds of political views, but they seemed to come together to make a tangible game plan for how Wakanda would take its place as a world ally. Apparently, most of the ideas of helping the rest of the world came from Erik; it wasn’t surprising, seeing as he grew up in America. Chanel was barely paying attention to the interview, however; Erik was at the helm at this point, answering questions and smoothly stepping over things he had no patience in talking about, in which T’Challa would step in and turn on his diplomatic charm. Chanel smiled to herself as she shook her head, sighing softly as she moved to sit on the couch. Draping her body across the couch, she kept her gaze upon the King, committing every visual to memory as if she had never seen him before.

After the interview, she went about her day as usual; she was in the middle of cleaning when she got a FaceTime request on her phone. Seeing T’Challa’s contact name flash across the screen, she pressed her lips together before accepting the request. Her lips curled into a small smile upon seeing his face. “You learned how to use your phone! We love progress,” She teased. Wakandan communication usually concerned Kimoyo bead communicators, so she wasn’t surprised that the King barely ever used his cell phone.

“Hush,” T’Challa shook his head before he ran a hand over his face quickly. “Are you free today? I wanted to take you and Leon out for a bite to eat,” He invited.

“That’s sweet, but Leon just left with his father,” Chanel glanced down at her nails quickly. “But I’m still free, unless you don’t wanna see me without my baby,” She laughed.

T’Challa sucked his teeth before he laughed. “Yes, I would like to see you still. I’ll come get you and we can go where you like. Deal?” He bargained, and smiled when she nodded. “Cool. I will give you time to freshen up.”

“Okay, you do the same. I don’t want to smell politics on you,” Chanel continued to tease, biting the inside of her cheek when she watched T’Challa’s lips curl into a soft smirk.

“I will keep that in mind,” He nodded before ending the call.

Chanel decided to break out the first of many sundresses she’d slip on for the Spring and Summer seasons; the cool weather aside, the sun was out and she could pair the coral-colored dress with a nice jacket and a pair of sandals. She had just gotten her nails and toes done, and wanted to show them off. She probably shouldn’t have cared _that_ much about how she looked, but she didn’t mind getting a little dressy for royalty.

T’Challa had chosen a small soul food spot some distance away from Howard University, and the two of them tried to keep a low profile—even Okoye and Ayo had to dress down in more Americanized clothing to put off the idea that they were anything more than a quad group looking for a plate of food. Chanel couldn’t get over how good T’Challa looked when he dressed down. A polo and slacks with a pair of loafers didn’t seem like much of a casual outfit, but it was casual for him and she could tell her was comfortable. He looked fresh out of a shower, with his coarse hair moisturized and smelling of argon oil that mixed with his signature cologne. He made Chanel’s mouth water, and she almost couldn’t hide the amount of time she spent just staring at him.

Okoye and Ayo sat a table away from Chanel and T’Challa, who decided to hem themselves up in a booth in the corner of the restaurant. It was pretty full during the lunch rush, mostly consisting of older couples and small clusters of students looking for something to eat. So far, nobody had realized they were there.

“I think I will try the oxtail. N’Jadaka swears by them, so they must be good,” T’Challa’s voice almost seemed disembodied as he lazily gazed over the menu.

“That nigga will eat cardboard if it’s seasoned right,” Chanel scoffed, causing a deep chuckle from her lunch mate. “However, the oxtail is good here. I’m getting chicken,” She decided, sitting her menu down. “I saw your interview today,” She commented.

“Oh?” Their eyes met, and she found herself smiling just as he began to. “Did we do well? I’m still not used to dealing with press,” He confessed.

“Really? I thought you were both great. You both know how to pick up where the other drops off, that’s super important,” The waitress came over to their table, and Chanel ordered her usual sweet tea while T’Challa opted for a lemonade. Chanel’s attention averted back to T’Challa once they were ‘alone’ again. “How do you feel about it? Did you think you did well?” She asked.

“I suppose I did. I feel like I said all that I needed. It’s just difficult trying to truly get back into the swing of things after—...” T’Challa paused, and suddenly went rigid before he took a slow breath. Chanel frowned a bit.

“After your father, right?” She asked, and he nodded briefly. Chanel reached and took his hand in hers, running her thumb across his knuckles. “I’m sure he’d be so proud of you. You’re a great king. I mean, I can’t say many details because I don’t live there...but you’re a good man, T’Challa. I’d give a lot for you to run my country, that’s for damn sure,” She laughed.

“You flatter me so much,” T’Challa graced her with another smile, the joy that danced in his eyes causing Chanel’s stomach to flutter with nerves. “I appreciate you,” He squeezed her hand.

“I try,” She grinned, only stopping when a thought crossed her mind. “Hey,” She drew out the word, catching the suspicion in his raised brow. “You still like cars, right?” T’Challa had a model car collection back at his home—mostly cars modeled in the 50s and 60s, but he loved a nice muscle car.

“I do,” He answered.

“Let’s rent one out and ride it around. You’d be surprised at how it’ll down the stress levels,” She suggested.

“I will end up drag racing with you along,” T’Challa playfully protested, and Chanel rolled her eyes before waving him off.

The waitress brought back their drinks and they ordered their food next, Chanel’s eyes flickering back to her friend once the waitress left them to attend to Okoye and Ayo’s table. “C’mon, T. It’ll be fun! We can go as slow as you want, okay Gramps?” She giggled at T’Challa’s incredulous gasp.

“We’re going to elementary name calling?” He laughed before he shook his head. “I can go as fast as I want to, for your information,” He reminded.

“Can you?” Chanel leaned over to sip her tea, promptly ignoring the heat between her thighs as she watched T’Challa bite into his bottom lip. “Prove it to me,” She challenged, unable to break her gaze from him.

“Hm,” He quietly mused before he nodded, leaning back against the booth. “You know I don’t like backing down from challenges. Especially not from you,” The observation came out as a grimace of sorts. Chanel knew he couldn’t resist proving her wrong...then again, he just seemed to do as she said most of the time. Either way, she was okay with getting what she wanted.

After a long lunch, the two slipped away from their security measures to find a car rental place, then nabbed a convertible that hummed so perfectly when T’Challa revved the engine. They drove through the main parts of D.C. until they reached less beaten paths; the King revved up the speed and zipped down every curve and turn, while Chanel sat in the passenger’s side, hands to the heavens and cares lost in the wind. They stopped at a curbside gas station and filled up along the way, only stopping their aimless road trip to enjoy the scenery. Parking at the side of the road, T’Challa put the hood back up and sat with Chanel in the backseat, silently basking in the natural air from the rolled-down windows and the sounds of rural area.

Chanel’s eyes seemed to fix upon the passing cars that came by occasionally, while T’Challa seemed lost in his thoughts, twisting his Kimoyo beads around his wrists as he stared up at the ceiling. She didn’t notice until she heard the soft sniff from him; she didn’t see any indication of tears, but she still noticed the faraway look in his eyes. “You okay?” His eyes cut in her direction, and he nodded.

“Somewhat,” He said, and she sat up slowly before furrowing her eyebrows.

“Mm-mm, talk to me,” Chanel scooted closer to him, gently wrapping her arms around his. “What’s wrong?” Holding onto him wasn’t an abnormal action, but the gentle running of her fingernails against his bicep was new.

“Nothing is wrong, per se. I have been thinking a lot lately. The Counsel is restless with me over my cousin and what went on before he became Advisor,” He explained, and Chanel watched him curiously. There were whispers and rumors that flew about how Erik got that job as T’Challa’s advisor, but Chanel knew when not to be nosy. It was the first time that he had ever voiced it, even if it was still sort of vague. “They do not trust him or his judgment. I probably should follow suit, but...he is my family,” He grunted softly, the stress that she saw when he first visited back upon his face.

“Okay but...you’re the king, right? So, it’s up to you to make the final call,” Chanel shrugged. “As much as Erik get on my nerves, he does his job and seeming does it well. If you feel the same, then keep him. Fuck them crusty ass niggas,” She sucked her teeth.

“Such a dirty mouth,” T’Challa hummed in amusement.

“You know you like it, too,” She countered, a soft giggle escaping her lips.

“Anyway,” T’Challa raised an eyebrow, allowing himself to relax from the slow raking of her nails against his skin. “You’ve got a valid point. I guess I am just feeling a bit shaky after everything that happened,” He rationalized.

Chanel looked up towards the man who still seemingly was within his own thoughts. “What happened, exactly?” She was going to have to straight out ask the question in order to get the information she desired.

“...Do you want the short or long version?” T’Challa seemed to have no problem telling Chanel what was on his mind—before she had returned home to America, they had spent some time talking about nearly everything. When she waved her hand slowly, he assumed she wanted the whole story. “Well, I did not know N’Jadaka was my cousin up until some time back. So, imagine, a man barges into my throne room demanding my spot,” Chanel furrowed her eyebrows as she watched T’Challa’s expression change...almost as if he was reliving his past. “He challenged me and beat me for my crown. Nearly killed me, if it wasn’t for M’Baku,” Chanel had only heard of this ‘M’Baku;’ apparently, Leah had been spending a lot of time learning how to fight with this man. “He...he did a lot of potentially damaging things to Wakanda, so I understand why people think I am insane for making him my advisor. However, he has great ideas, and I feel that if I just give him support and love...” He sighed. “Maybe I am too forgiving, as people say...”

“Maybe,” Chanel shrugged. “But again, what do _you_ feel? The Counsel is there to help you make decisions for Wakanda, but at the end of the day it’s on you to decide things. Erik is your cousin, and your issue. If he steps out of line, you know that you are the only one who can regulate the situation, and you can do it in any way you want and must to protect you and your country. That’s what comes with being a leader. Also, being forgiving ain’t all that bad. I wish I could be more forgiving,” She wasn’t sure if anything she said truly mattered, but T’Challa’s stress was something she didn’t want.

“For now, I feel like his ideas are valuable. I gave him the job to ensure he would not cause more trouble—it’s his debt to Wakanda. It is for that reason that I allow it,” T’Challa explained.

“Then that’s that. You said what the fuck you said,” Chanel confirmed.

T’Challa chuckled softly before he looked down at his lap. “...Yes. I said what I said,” He smiled before he glanced over at her, and she graced him with a grin. “You and your quips,” He reached over and gently moved a twist out of her face.

“My quips are nuggets of wisdom, thank you very much,” She boasted, unable to hide the blush that was coming to her face. “Now, are you gonna stop looking lost and enjoy the view?” She tried to sass him to stop her fluster.

“I can only look at trees and pasture for so long, Miss Chanel,” T’Challa’s lip curled up in a playful snarl, and she shook her head as she tugged at his goatee.

“Then enjoy my company instead.”

“Now, that I can do.”

T’Challa moved faster than Chanel could comprehend and she was eventually in his arms, relaxing once more as they enjoyed the cool breeze flowing in from the outdoors. She moved her legs over his lap, trying not to allow the skirt of her dress to rise too far up her thighs. Getting comfortable against his chest, she listened to his heartbeat before she glanced out at the spanning landscape. “Are you calm now?” She mumbled.

“I’m calm,” T’Challa replied, and Chanel looked up at him with a small smile.

“Good,” She ran her hand over the top of his hair, and giggled when she noticed his embarrassed smile. “You’ve gotta be calm, you know? You’re not the King when you’re with me,” She moved in his lap until she was mounted upon it, her dress bunched at the knees and his hands gingerly rested upon her thighs.

“I doubt that is a realistic ideal,” T’Challa knew his responsibilities as a king never really ended. “But you make it sound...amazing. Paradisiacal, even,” He sighed. “I wish it were that easy.”

“It is. Just...forget about that right now, okay?” Chanel felt dizzy. The scent of him was all over the car, and all she wanted to do now was have her hands all over him. Things that should have mattered, the very things that often kept her from acting upon her attraction, just didn’t matter now. “Relax, okay? Out here, you’re just T’Challa. So just...be. Be, with me,” Her hands were slowly running down his chest now.

“Just be,” T’Challa repeated.

She nodded, watching his tongue glide across his lips.

She flicked hers against his before she could stop herself.

Now their mouths danced together, slowly and passionately. His grip on her thighs tightened, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, keeping her body close to his as they kissed. His mouth tasted like cinnamon gum and cherry lip balm, and the hum of his groans against her mouth made her body tingle. His kiss was everything she imagined and so much more. She immediately became greedy, attempting to dominate the kiss. However, T’Challa proved to be unmovable as his tongue twisted with hers at the speed he chose. The two pulled away to take a moment to breathe, and she glanced up at the male as he stared her down, his eyes still soft but also wild with passion.

“Chanel,” His voice came out firm, almost stern, but there was a certain sensuality within her name that caused the woman to squeeze her thighs against him. “I w—...”

The soft vibration of a cell phone brought them out of the bubble they had placed themselves in, and Chanel glanced down. “...You should get that,” She got off his lap in an instant.

T’Challa all but dropped his phone in trying to get it out of his pocket. “H-Hello?” He was breathy, and Chanel bit her lip to keep from smiling. “Yes, Okoye. I am fine. Yes, Chanel is with me. No, we are not in any trouble. Just went for a drive,” He wasn’t lying. They went for driving...at first, anyway. “We will be back soon. Okay,” He hung up the phone, and drew a long sigh. “We should head back,” He wasn’t going to mention what had taken place. That was fine with Chanel. She could keep a secret.

“We should,” She agreed, but was stopped before he could get out of the car.

T’Challa turned her back to him before he gripped her cheek, causing her to let out a shuddered breath. “One more,” His breathless beg got lost in her mouth as he gave her another slow and sensual kiss, pulling away before his tongue slowly slid across the seal of her lips. “You taste so sweet...” A groan laced with his words.

Chanel huffed before forcing herself out of his grasp. “For fuck’s sake,” She mumbled. “Gonna make me sit on your fucking face. Come on, let’s go,” Sensory overload often pissed Chanel off, and she was so stimulated that she couldn’t help but to be annoyed.

The two straightened themselves out before coming back to the front seats, T’Challa revving up the engine and heading back down the road once the car started. The A/C blasted on high while Chanel sat in silence, not attempting to even look at her driver. Deep down, she was throbbing and itching for more, and she knew he had more to offer. If only they had more time.


	2. One Call Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chanel and T'Challa makes a fair deal. Also, T'Challa makes a phone call. Spoiler: he's terrible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Loose) Song Inspiration: One Call Away x Chingy.

The courtroom was silent as Chanel paced back and forth slowly, the soft click of her heels against the floor barely echoing as she stood in front of the batch of 12 jurors. “So, in closing, I believe that my client was irrefutably wronged in the scenario. She looked for comfort in this company during her time of mourning, and was clearly swindled out of expansive amounts of money,” Chanel stopped walking, glancing over at the jury before she sighed. “But it’s not just the money, it’s the loss of time, the loss of her resources, and a betrayal of her trust. This company should be held accountable for that,” She gently crossed her arms. “The prosecution rests,” She nodded towards the judge before she went to sit next to her client. About 30 minutes passed—the jury left and returned before granting the guilty verdict to the defendant team. Chanel sat back in her seat, grinning as the judge proceeded with sentencing. It was another victory for her career; she was proud of herself.

After conferring with her now former client, she stepped out of the courthouse with a bounce in her step; she always felt chipper after a successful case. She walked to her car and slid into it before she checked her phone, seeing the missed calls she had. Deciding to go in order of what she saw, she called Israel back first.

Once she heard an episode of Paw Patrol in the background, she let out a small chuckle. “Hello,” She greeted. “Leon’s got you on P.P. Lockdown,” She teased.

“That he does,” Israel huffed softly, causing Chanel to laugh a bit. “But I was just checking in with you, so you know he’s alright,” He said.

“Thank you,” She hummed softly. “There’s a parent meeting coming up in a couple of days with his teacher,” She explained.

“I’ll be there. It’s at noon, right?” He asked, and she hummed in confirmation. “Cool. Well I’ll be there,” He repeated and suddenly, Chanel noticed the silence.

“You alright?” She asked. “You’re usually never this quiet,” She joked.

He sucked his teeth before letting out a small chuckle. “Why you gotta tease a nigga? I can’t just wanna be on the phone?” The question kind of threw her off.

“Not really. Not with me,” Chanel started her car before putting Israel on speaker, sitting her phone in the cup holder before buckling her seat belt. “Don’t tell me you’re getting sentimental,” She mumbled loud enough for Israel to hear, backing out of the parking space before she headed towards the opening to the road. When Israel had no answer for her, she sucked her teeth lightly. “No, Israel,” She rejected.

“You didn’t even hear what I had to say,” He argued.

Chanel couldn’t help but to roll her eyes before she let out a soft huff. “I don’t have to. You trying to act all awkward tells me what I need to know. And the answer is no. Ain’t gonna be no getting back together, no side fucking, nothing. You can dead that,” She spat.

“You cold,” He chuckled softly. “Maybe I just wanna be friends or some sh—...” He cleared his throat. “Or something,” He corrected himself. “Ain’t no reason we gotta be beefing, Chanel. We got a son together, the least you and I can do is get along,” He explained.

“We wouldn’t be beefing if it wasn’t for you being a fuckboy,” She frowned. “Sleeping with every bitch that breathes around you for too long doesn’t make me wanna be your friend. The only reason I haven’t killed your ass yet is because of Leon, so count your wins and be satisfied with that,” She pulled up towards a nearby Chick-Fil-A, getting into the drive-thru line. “Anything else? Or do you wanna waste more of my time?” She asked.

“Chanel,” Israel sighed, before sucking his teeth. “Bet. Bye.”

She hung up on him without an answer, and she ran a hand over her twisted braids before sighing. “Bitch ass nigga. Got the nerve to ask me,” She laughed bitterly to herself before she scrolled through more of her missed calls, biting into the corner of her lip when she saw a particular contact: _Chal,_ with a crown emoji. She wondered just how late it was back in Wakanda; she didn’t want to wake him out his slumber but after having to deal with Israel’s foolishness, she needed to talk to someone she actually wanted to speak to. However, when her phone rang again and his contact name came flashing across the screen, she bit into her lip before answering.

There was a brief silence once she answered the phone, and she sank a bit into her seat when she heard his voice. “Chanel,” His voice was warm. Tired, but warm.

“T’Challa,” She answered back, scooting up a bit in the long vehicular line. “Why aren’t you sleeping?” Chanel seemed to be subdued just by hearing this man’s voice.

“Being tired yet restless is a dangerous combination,” He yawned, and she glanced at the menu briefly, keeping attention on his voice. “I have to apologize. How I behaved the week before was inappropriate,” Chanel furrowed her eyebrows before she let out a small laugh.

“You’re apologizing for something I started?” She appreciated how chivalrous he was, but she regretted nothing still. “And why are you being sorry for something we wanted to do?” She asked, finally reaching the ordering intercom.

T’Challa was silent as Chanel ordered her dinner, and cleared his throat once she was finished. “It is hardly about what I want, but more about what is right,” He sighed. “I’m not saying that it was not what I desired, but it was wrong of me for various reasons,” He mumbled.

Chanel didn’t have to probe him to know what—or who—he was speaking of. “Such as Nakia?” The tension in the phone call came immediately after, but Chanel didn’t back away from it. “What are y’all anyway? Is she your girlfriend, or what?” She asked.

“No, but—...”

“Then I don’t give a fuck about her.”

“Chanel,” T’Challa sighed softly.

“I don’t,” Chanel doubled down. “I get it, you and her have history, and you probably love her or whatever, but if she isn’t your girlfriend, then what do I need to be worried about? You’re single until it’s proven otherwise,” She rationalized. “And if you really love her, why haven’t you gotten with her, then?”

“Now is not the right time for us,” T’Challa stopped short before huffing. “Why am I explaining this to you?”

“Why do you feel the need to explain it to me?” Chanel challenged. The call went silent again, and she scooted up in line again. “Look, ‘Chal. I don’t wanna be your girlfriend right now either, so don’t feel like you have a cross to bear. I like you, but I know what it is. So, let’s just do us. We’ll cross the bridges we need to cross when we get to it, alright?” She scratched at the area where her industrial piercing usually was.

“So, I am your side piece,” Chanel cackled at T’Challa’s assumption.

“Nigga!” The two began to laugh as she moved up in line to the window. She paid for her food and received it before she headed back on the road. “First off, who the hell taught you that term? Secondly, I have to have a boyfriend for you to be my side piece. If anything, I’m the side,” She shook her head.

“N’Jadaka and Leah have some colorful vocabulary and vernacular,” T’Challa’s laughter was still mingling within his statement. “But as you said...I am a single man, so you are not a side piece either,” He said.

“Okay...so we’re friends with benefits. Semi-benefits, since my dumb ass decided to like a man who lives in another continent,” Chanel smiled.

“You are far from dumb,” T’Challa almost sounded scolding as he spoke. “Circumstances can be strenuous, but the heart wants what it wants,” He sighed. “Speaking of that...I miss you. I miss you so much already.”

Chanel’s stomach tightened at the sound of his voice, the sudden craving for something with cinnamon filling her already drying mouth. “I miss you, too. Are you going to be back my way soon?” She asked.

“I’m uncertain about that. I can try to come see you if I can make time,” He yawned softly before Chanel could hear some shuffling in the background. “We will find a way to make it work,” His sleep-ridden voice sent chills up Chanel’s spine.

“Mhm,” She kept her eyes on the road, her thighs unconsciously rubbing together. “Go to sleep, buddy. You’ve got a country to run,” She said.

“Indeed,” T’Challa’s voice trailed off. “Have a good day, beautiful.”

“Have a good night, your highness,” She grinned at the sound of his soft laugh, and she hung up before she let out a small sigh. How the hell was she going to navigate this properly? What was she supposed to do about feelings that were so dangerous that it could destroy everything? She could take her own advice and just see where it went, but the last time she saw where things went, Leon was a result.

She sure knew how to pick them.

* * *

 

Sunrises in Wakanda were grand from the view of the King’s private chambers. Blankets of gold fell over the futuristic buildings and throughout the wilderness that laid beyond it; T’Challa had watched the sun come up every morning for as long as he could remember. Sleep deprivation be damned, he was staring at the view as the sun colored the sky with soft blues and purples that transitioned into bright oranges and pinks. He still couldn’t entirely sleep after he got off the phone with Chanel, and now he was watching the sun rise just to clear his mind of his conflicting thoughts.

He honestly felt as if proverbial weight just continued to press against his shoulders. He constantly thought about the responsibilities that was bestowed upon him since T’Chaka’s death; sure, he was often told that it was up to him to be the king that he wanted to be, but he couldn’t help but to feel as if he had to move strategically. After N’Jadaka’s imprint on Wakanda, the pressure became even heavier upon T’Challa. Everyone seemed to have an opinion on what T’Challa needed to be as a man and as a king, and the ‘just in case’ clauses had people on edge. The what ifs of his future had people wanting him to settle down, wanting him to go ahead and make a wife of Nakia. Problem was, the two just weren’t on the same page. She still had her duties as a spy, and she just wasn’t entirely ready to sit down and ‘be a queen;’ T’Challa wasn’t about to force her to do so, either.

As if all that wasn’t enough, in comes Chanel Richards.

Wakanda’s International Study Initiative was for advanced students of color that were looking for a different experience to add to their academic careers. Most of the students that came into the first batch of the program were all within political, technological or science oriented degree programs, so it made sense for them to be rubbing elbows with the royal family. Some worked closely with Shuri and other scientists that worked within Wakanda, while the political-centered majors worked closely with The Counsel and the King himself. However, Chanel was nothing like the other students. T’Challa was confused upon seeing the bright-skinned beauty with braids swinging down her back, acrylic nails, and a mouth so unapologetic that she even made N’Jadaka wince at times. But her brash and honest aura was refreshing to the King, who had to be surrounded by so many prim and proper people.

She was a trouble maker, playing tricks and pranks to ‘make shit interesting,’ as she would say. If it wasn’t Ramonda feeling as if Chanel was a problem, it was N’Jadaka who felt as if the girl was too wild, even for him. But T’Challa was charmed by her; she felt like a wild flame amongst peaceful trees, rooted in tradition and manners. However, his more passionate desires towards the woman seemed to creep up on him.

Saying he was unaware of Chanel’s attraction to him would be naïve on his apart; he noticed the looks and the slick comments, but he casted it off as playfulness because of how she was. Also, she wasn’t the only person that called themselves attracted to him. However, as she dropped the flirtation bravado, he realized that there was a free spirit within her that called out to him. She never treated him as if he was simply a king, but treated him as a man, her equal. It made it so easy for him to like her...made it so easy for her to become his best friend.

Getting feelings involved wasn’t a part of the plan, though.

He had been spending so much time working once he hired Leah as N’Jadaka’s assistant, he didn’t realize just how slippery the slope with Chanel would become. The two women were close coming into the program and that didn’t change much after the fact. Just as his cousin had found some solace in Leah, T’Challa had grown close to Chanel through long-winded conversations that sometimes lasted until the sunlight peeked through his windows. They cracked jokes, they discussed politics, she expressed her thoughts on films he had never seen, and he’d read her poetry. She was his escape from being king, so it was easy to enjoy her presence despite her not being physically there. Somewhere within it all...he found himself liking her a lot more than he had anticipated. He could still remember the softness of her mouth and the sweetness of her tongue when he kissed her, and the thoughts made his heart race. If not for the interrupting phone call, he was certain he would have lost all control around her. Then again, he couldn’t help but to feel as if he was cheating. He wasn’t sure what Nakia did in her private life—they agreed not to discuss such things. However, he still felt like he was betraying his lover; Chanel felt fresh, new, and exciting, and he was fearing that he was allowing the thrill of the chase to knock him off balance. Despite it, he couldn’t stop thinking about her: about her long and soft legs, about her thickened thighs, about the plush softness of her lips, or the sultry smolder of her brown eyes. She was a siren, and he was willingly following her to destruction.

“Good morning, my king,” T’Challa looked over his shoulder to see one of the members of the Dora. “Breakfast will be ready for you in an hour.”

He didn’t even realize that he had gone into one of his dazes. He quickly nodded and cleared his throat, hoping that his fluster didn’t show. “Thank you,” He said, exhaling sharply when the door closed.

A shower, breakfast, and one morning routine later, T’Challa was in his study and going through some paperwork. Thankfully it was a day that he could somewhat have to himself—aside from the periodic visits from his sister and Leah bringing by some papers N’Jadaka signed off on, T’Challa had some ‘free time.’ Diligence would lead his work load to come to a measly surveillance watch on his monitors, getting a glimpse of most of the locations in the quarters. He couldn’t believe how bored he was.

He pulled out his cell phone, used mostly for communication with people outside of his country—he barely used it for much else aside from the occasional phone call, but Leah had gotten him privy to social media. He didn’t really use any of the accounts she made for him, but it was nice to use when he wanted to lurk about and see what the rest of the world was doing or discussing. Twitter didn’t seem to be too exciting for the moment, so he decided to go to Instagram.

He only followed a couple of people, so it was easy to look through their stories. Leah had just gotten an early lunch with her boss, while some other accounts were doing various things. His thumb gently pressed against the screen of the phone, skipping over to a story he had been looking forward to seeing since he saw her name at the top of the app.

Chanel was at home—it was well into the evening where she was, and she was relaxing in her bed. Her hair, freshly washed and unbraided, sat in a small but curly afro. Music played in the background as she slipped on a satin bonnet, and the King couldn’t help but to smile at the image of her at her most comfortable. The next part of her story was her watching a television show, the view of her perfectly pedicured toes and long legs causing T’Challa’s grip on his phone to tighten. He had every intent to move on and continue his lurking, but now his mind was racing. He wanted to touch her; he couldn’t. Her voice would have to do. He called her without a second though.

“Hey,” He sunk into his chair when he heard her voice.

“Hi,” He cleared his throat before he slightly turned towards the window, soaking in the expansive view. “You were on my mind...so,” He cleared his throat.

“Good to know,” Chanel chuckled softly. “How’s your day going?” She asked.

“It’s going. It has been tedious, for once,” He rubbed his hand against his chin, closing his eyes as he let out a slow sigh. “Your day went better than mine, I hope,” T’Challa felt like a childish fool for how bad his hormones were raging. He was too damn old for this.

“It sucked, honestly,” Chanel sighed softly. “I have this new client and honestly...the fucker is a pain. I really don’t like dealing with chauvinistic niggas,” She yawned softly. “Between that and everybody in the world deciding to fuck with me today, it’s just been _wonderful_ ,” Sarcasm dripped from her tone.

“I’m sorry your day went so terribly, sweetheart,” T’Challa was frowning as he glanced over his shoulder out of habit, watching the door to his study. “Is there anything I can do to relieve you?” He asked.

“You’re sweet, baby,” _Baby._ The endearment rang through T’Challa’s head like church bells; he had never heard the woman sound so warm. “I’m not sure, though. I already took a bath and washed my hair, so I’m just trying to get to sleep,” She said.

“...Maybe I can help you get to sleep,” He almost wanted to laugh at himself for what he was about to suggest. “Sometimes, when I am stressed...well, I find a way to relieve myself of that stress. It usually puts me right to sleep,” His explanation was vague, and he did it on purpose.

“What do you do?” She asked.

“Well,” He paused, slouching a little farther in his seat. “I pleasure myself.”

He wasn’t entirely certain where the words were coming from. He had never been so forward with anyone before, but Chanel always seemed to make it easy for him to open himself up to wilder ideas. Something about this woman awakened something deep inside him and instead of fighting it off as he usually did, he decided to allow it to flourish.

“Hm,” Chanel’s giggle made T’Challa’s free hand grip the arm of his seat. “I really can’t imagine you getting off like that,” She teased.

“Why?” He asked, genuinely curious. “I’ve imagined you before,” He heard her gasp, and he smiled softly as he looked down at his lap. “I’m not naïve. I know how these things work,” He muttered.

“Didn’t say that. But you bougie. Have you even had phone sex before?” She asked.

“I didn’t own a phone until recently,” He argued. “But this should not be difficult. Just...start me off. I can follow suit,” He insisted, the front of his tunic slowly opening due to his unbuttoning. The sunshine glared through the window and was warm against his bare skin.

Chanel was in a fit of giggles. “You’re so adorable, baby...” There she went again with that name. His lap was tingling. “I wish you were here,” The octave of her voice lowered, and the man’s hand twitched.

“I wish I could be there with you. I want to taste your mouth again,” He admitted, his mouth drying when he heard her sigh. “I want to taste all of you,” His thoughts seemed to run faster than his filter could.

“Do you?” By Bast, yes. “Because I’ve been trying to see what else that mouth can do,” She sounded cocky—as if she knew he’d love the imminent time they’d spend together. T’Challa loved her arrogance, oddly enough.

“It has a couple talents,” He ran his fingers across his thigh, taking a soft grip at the bulge beneath the soft material. “But that’s not all I want,” He whispered.

“Well,” Chanel chuckled, a small moan escaping her. His length twitched beneath his palm. “What else do you want?”

“I want to be inside you. I want to feel how warm you would be around me. I want to feel how wet you are,” His confession brought more moans from the female. “I want to see how deep I can make your back arch when I dig into you.”

“Shit,” She whispered. “Keep talking...”

“I want to watch your faces as I make love to you, Chanel. Every bite of your soft lip, every furrow of your brow—I want to see that. I want to know just how much you love me being inside you,” He paused, briefly licking over his lips. “I want you to ride me. Slowly. I want to feel you throb and squeeze me. I want to give you a chance to shine,” He whispered.

“So, you won’t let me lead, huh?” She teased.

“No. Not this time. I’m the king, right? Everything you do will because I allow it,” He insisted. “You will play with yourself when I tell you to. You will cum when I tell you to,” She moaned, and he unfastened the button on his pants before pulling his length from the confines.

“You want me to be your good little girl,” She mumbled, and he relaxed against the seat as he stroked himself, allowing himself to become completely wrapped in her voice. “If I’m a good girl, will you fuck my mouth?”

He hissed softly as he squeezed himself, nodding as if she could see. “Y-Yes, sweetheart. I’ll fuck your mouth,” She gasped in surprise at his vulgar language, the stillness of his whisper only seeming to heighten the tension. “I can hear how wet you are, Chanel...” He closed his eyes to focus on the soft and wet noise coming from the other side of the phone. “I bet you taste amazing. I just want one taste of you...”

Her purr caused a small bead of precum to seep out of the tip of him, and he furrowed his eyebrows as he kept his eyes closed. “Yeah, I’m riding your face the next time I see you. You can’t say no,” Chanel chuckled.

“You think I can say no to you?” T’Challa let out a throaty chuckle, a soft shudder coming soon after. “You think I will say no to you letting me taste your pussy? Hm?”

“Oh my God,” Chanel’s voice hitched in a whiny squeal. “T’Challa,” She whispered.

“Hm,” He groaned. “Say my fucking name again, Chanel.”

“T’Challa...”

“Again. Moan for your King...”

His strokes stayed slow and patient, but the firm grip of his length was edging him towards ecstasy. His name rolled off Chanel’s tongue as if she was chanting and every time he closed his eyes, all he could visualize was the two of them indulging in sin. He wanted her so badly it was killing him. He toes curled in his sandals, and he let out a heavy huff as he heard her squeak out a couple curses, slow and plentiful load spilling out onto his hand. Balancing the phone between his ear and shoulder, he grabbed some tissues from the desk behind him, quickly cleaning himself up.

“Shit,” Chanel sighed softly before humming in content. “That was—...you’re nasty,” She laughed softly.

“You make me that way,” He playfully blamed.

“You better keep that same energy when I see you, ‘Chal. You’ve got me excited now,” Her voice was now riddled with sleep, and he smiled softly as he imagined her curled up in bed, her hand still placed between her thighs.

“It will be everything you want and more, my sweet,” He sighed softly before he licked over his lips. “Go to sleep. I know you can relax now,” He assumed.

“Mhm,” Chanel yawned. “Goodnight, baby,” She whispered sweetly.

“Goodnight,” He hung up the phone, and he leaned his head back against the back of the chair. He had to find a way back to America, soon. There was no way he could go through another one of those, no matter how fun it might have seemed. Nothing would compare to her in the flesh.


	3. Summer Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T'Challa and Nakia are complicated. Also, The Gang goes to Brooklyn for Afropunk. Spoiler: T'Challa is worse than we thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What the fuck. Song Inspiration: Summer Madness x Kool & The Gang.

The height of summer always seemed to bring out the lethargic tendencies in T’Challa—training became more strenuous due to the hot sun, he had more traveling to do, and he honestly just didn’t want to deal with the sun and what came with it. He was a fall and winter type of guy, so every year he was dragging his feet to do his duties for a couple of months. It somewhat gave him a second wind once the weather cooled down, however. He had been already counting down the days until it was time for him to break out his ‘fall outfits.’

The summer festival was here, and that meant that the summer was half over, and all T’Challa could do was thank Bast for the timing. The planning for it was always pulling teeth because he had to find a way to include everyone’s ideas and not step on any toes. Ironically, the theme for the year was ‘unity,’ to show the people that despite the very unorthodox events that had led to some changes within the Wakandan Counsel, the country still stood for standing together, especially now that the country was opening up to the rest of the world. The Counsel was for the theme, in theory. However, it was hard for them to accept N’Jadaka’s position in their ranks, still. It made the already difficult planning process harder than it had to be. T’Challa had to wonder why he wasn’t grey at the head and beard at this point. But they made it, and now he had a day to somewhat relax. Sure, he’d have some speeches to do towards the end of the day, but he had been reciting those for weeks—he knew the words as naturally as breathing. He would just have a chance to be amongst his people, not as just their king, but as a citizen of the land they all loved and cherished.

Instead of his usual garb, he dressed simply in a light shirt and loose pants, making sure to put on a comfortable pair of shoes to walk in. He was supposed to be meeting up with Nakia and Leah down in the town square, but he was naturally stopped along the way to meet the people and network. It was one of the few times he didn’t have security in his immediate area, but he knew that Dora members were everywhere, dressed as civilians but on the ready if anything were to go sideways. It was a specific process T’Challa took seriously, because he wanted that feeling of normalcy not only on his end, but with his people as well.

He finally did find the women, and he smiled gently at the sight of Nakia—working out in Russia had her away for a couple of months, so she was certainly a sight for sore eyes. She was too busy chatting it up with Leah to notice him approaching, and it gave him time to take in her appearance. She had a couple nicks here and there from the fighting he assumed she was forced to do sometimes but overall, she was still timelessly flawless. Her deep and rich skin still seemed to glow even when she wasn’t out in the light, and that bright smile could charm demons back to salvation. She gave T’Challa a different type of sensation when he was around her...something deeply rooted in comfort, in trust, and in a genuine knowledge of one another. People could get so caught up in labels and what is supposed to be done within those labels. Nakia knew and respected T’Challa simply as the man he was, and that was why he was so steadfast on her being his right hand.

“Ladies,” He nearly barked the greeting out, mostly due to him trying to snap himself out of his trance. Nakia stood from the seat she was in, her grin wide as she held out her arms.

T’Challa met her halfway in a hug so tight and warm that it threatened to engulf him in flames. She smelled like lavender, and his eyelids closed slowly as his fingertips slowly brushed down her spine, a usual sign of his subtle affection. “How have you been?” She asked, and he nodded as he looked down at her, matching her smile.

“All is well. And you, Little Chameleon?” His nickname for her went back well into their early years of friendship. Nakia always knew how and when to blend into the crowd, and T’Challa, at the time, just wanted a name to pick at her with. Now, it was used in more endearing ways.

“I’m good! Glad to be back home for a bit,” She said, finally pulling away from his grasp. For the most part, it was to keep things looking ‘professional.’

“And hello to you as well, Miss Leah. You look beautiful today; I see you got your hair done!” T’Challa gestured to the twists that were now cascading down Leah’s back.

“Thanks! The shrinkage is so real,” She chuckled before she glanced over his shoulder, then took a sip of the drink that sat in her brightly colored cup. Leah looked as if she was searching for something, but who really knew what went on in that girl’s mind. If T’Challa had any idea, he didn’t have what she was looking for.

The three traveled through the crowded festival streets that were littered with merchants and casual festival goers, stopping at small shops to support the people who made and sold their wares just for the festival. It was at the small stand of soaps and lotions that the trio quickly became a quartet and became a duo at an even swifter span—N’Jadaka all but dragged Leah off to spend time with her alone. T’Challa just shook his head as he watched them go, then looked back at Nakia, who was still looking at the lotions.

“Do you want to go anywhere else?” T’Challa brought her attention back to him, and she shrugged before she sat the bottle down.

“I’m actually really hungry, so let’s find something,” She held out her hand, and T’Challa grabbed it before leading her through the crowd. They walked in a comfortable silence, his attention averting from the crowd ahead of him to her whenever her thumb strummed his knuckles.

“How long are you staying?” He asked loud enough for her to hear him.

They stopped in front of a seafood stand, and he watched as Nakia glanced over the menu written on the stand. “About two weeks, then I have some work to do in Saudi Arabia,” She explained. Although she wasn’t looking, she held up a finger when T’Challa’s face fell into a disappointed frown. “Don’t start,” She said.

“I’m not,” He lied. “I just figured you would be here a bit longer. We spoke of making a compromise, and we’ve yet to sit down and actually map one out,” Nakia turned to face him, frowning slightly as she nodded.

“That we did. And I apologize if it seems like I’m skipping out on that conversation,” She sighed before he ran a hand down her arm. “I want to be with you, T’Challa. You know this. But now just...it’s not the time. Wakanda is finally in the process of extending helping hands to the rest of the world, but that only means that my job is going to hold a heavier load,” She explained.

“Our jobs will not stop for anyone. I get the point,” T’Challa felt like this conversation was becoming exhausting already. He didn’t want to force her to do anything she didn’t want to do, but he couldn’t help but to feel like there was some stalling involved. “I just want some clarity about where we are. I...I need that, right now,” He mumbled.

“Well, I thought it was clear that you and I are endgame,” Nakia raised an eyebrow. “Has something changed? Or what?”

T’Challa tilted his head before glancing away from her, hearing her soft sigh. “She’s a friend of mine, but...” They were always honest with one another. When Nakia had a gentleman friend in Paris that she saw for a couple years, T’Challa swallowed that truth despite how much it hurt. He couldn’t lie to her about Chanel; it was disrespectful towards both women to do that. “There is a tension there.”

“Okay. Well, do what you must,” Nakia wasn’t happy, but it seemed that there was not much she could do. “You know I’ll be here when it’s time,” She said, and he glanced over at her before he sighed.

“As will I,” He agreed, the apologetic look in his eyes causing her envious one to soften a bit. “Are...are you still hungry?” He nodded towards the stand in front of them.

She nodded and grabbed his hand again before they walked towards the seafood stand. Their fingers laced, slowly but surely.

* * *

 

“Tonight, I stand before you as your King to celebrate the peak of the summer season. This time is a time of celebration of our land and the message of unity,” T’Challa stood at the podium as he looked upon thousands and thousands of people—most consisted of his Wakandan people, while there were some tourists and worldwide media outlets recording the speech on their devices. It was the first time they had opened their boarders to outside individuals, and he could feel the pressure. “As perfect as we may come across to the rest of the world, Wakanda has had their ups and downs to get to this point. However, I am here today to make it known that this land has never been more secure. As your King, I vow to give my all to not only continue to protect the land we hold dear, but to extend our hands to the darker corners of the world who have not known much of paradise. We are here with a helping hand and an open ear,” He continued his speech, making sure to keep his breathing steady.

Behind him was his mother and sister, watching carefully as they stood to the right of him; N’Jadaka stood to his left, eyes squared forward on the crowd and his face in a resting scowl. Leah wasn’t too far away from her boss, standing modestly and looking the most relaxed out of everyone on stage. T’Challa knew and could feel the discomfort between his family members, and he wished that he could find a way to make things better. Leah spoke often about how one of her troubled cousins had a therapist. It wasn’t something completely foreign to T’Challa. Maybe that was what was needed...a mediated session where everyone could talk things out. But where does one start when one man nearly killed his cousin and sent a nation into war? Was information like that too intense and classified even for a therapist? What if somehow, the information got into the wrong hands?

The message of unity was flawed. If anyone looked hard enough, the flaws were blaringly obvious on the stage.

T’Challa finished his speech, and the people were cheering—they believed his every word, even if he himself doubted them. He watched N’Jadaka take the podium next, and he was surprised by the welcoming his cousin received; it was mostly from the tourists who had grown to love his charm that he displayed on television. Some of the women even had the audacity to scream for him. ‘Erik! We love you!’ They yelled, and T’Challa merely chuckled as he heard Leah suck her teeth.

“Don’t be jealous, Miss Leah,” He mumbled to her.

“Nobody’s jealous! That rock head isn’t all that,” She mumbled, and the King just shook his head with a small smile.

After the speeches were a couple ceremonial dances—blessings to Bast, to the warriors, and to bring favor to women who wanted fertility came with every dance around the roaring bonfire, then various music played throughout the night. The beating of drums played in the summer air as the sun tucked itself in, and the stars twinkled extra bright as people brought out wine for those of proper age to indulge in.

It was late when T’Challa finally reached his quarters: warm, happy, and exhausted. The festival had been successful, and he was now ready for the three-day break he granted himself and the rest of his staff every year. Once he closed the door behind him, he shed himself out of his clothes until he was down to his boxers. He tossed his clothes into his hamper and advanced towards the bathroom when he heard a loud knock on the door.

He opened the door and was surprised to see Nakia in front of him, out of her festival clothes and in a simple shirt and lounging pants. “N—...!”

Her body pressed into his before she took an aggressive grip to his neck, bringing him down into a fiery kiss. The taste of wine was faint in her mouth, but her usual calm disposition was replaced with something more dominant—signs of her drinking a lot more than she probably should have. Despite that, T’Challa pulled her into his bedroom and placed her against the door, kissing her with just as much chaotic fervor. He proceeded to taste her there, then got her missionary on the bed, then from the back in the shower. He woke up the next morning in the bed naked, alone, and with a headache. Flashbacks of the night before seemed to flash through his mind in bursts, and he cursed softly to himself when he took a whiff of the air; her scent was everywhere.

It wasn’t abnormal for him to wake up to fragmented memories and an empty bed; the first time he engaged in drunken trysts with the woman he was in love with gave him adrenaline that he had never felt before. Something about the unhinged passion, the loss of inhibition, and the sheer filth was fun for them both. However, it seemed that it only happened when they were inebriated. Any other time was business as usual, and no matter how it went, it was never spoken of. It was always business, never truly pleasure. He didn’t expect Nakia at his door last night, though. When he last saw her, he wished her a good night and they seemed to be content with how the day went, awkward mention of his situation aside. They even went about joking about how Leah wasn’t going home, but to do more ‘work’ with N’Jadaka.

So how did it go from that, to her biting into his neck while he was deep in her, murmuring how he was hers? He ran a hand over the spot, feeling the phantom force despite her not leaving a real mark on him. He had never mentioned Chanel’s name, but he had a feeling Nakia already knew he was now interested in exploring. She was staking claim. But Nakia had nothing to worry about. He liked Chanel plenty, but he loved Nakia. She’d be his wife once the time was right.

_But what if the time is never right?_

His thoughts were fucking with him now, and he was growing irritated. He decided to take a shower—a cold one, to wake him up and to force him to stop thinking about things. He always thought far too much.

After his shower, he decided to join his cousin and the assistant in their morning training; he woke up later than them, so they were already jogging out in the sunshine...in the heat. Tugging at his jogging shorts, T’Challa sighed harshly as he sprinted across the clearing to catch up with them. “Still training on your off day?” He huffed, and N’Jadaka cut his eyes in his direction.

“You came to join us. About time, now I can show Leah some more sparring moves,” Dreads flopped freely in front of the man’s face as he pushed himself to jog ahead of the trio.

T’Challa pushed himself a bit harder to catch up, seeing that there was a truck at the end of the clearing. He glanced to his right and saw that Leah was right next to him; every movement she made seemed to bring a grimace to her face, and she was glistening from sweat already—however, her focus was on the truck.

Eventually, they all made it to the truck and Leah quickly snatched the canteen before taking a long gulp from it. “You tired already?” Leah’s eyes cut in N’Jadaka’s direction, and the man threw her a cocky smirk before she sighed.

“Shut up,” She mumbled, letting out a small chuckle before she took another sip of water. “But it’s good you’re both here at the same time! I’ve got a little idea for a vacation, if you guys can take some time off when the time comes,” She explained.

“For?” T’Challa wiped his mouth of the water he drank.

“Afropunk in Brooklyn,” Leah replied, in which N’Jadaka’s eyes lit up.

“Fuck yeah, I’m goin’,” The brute answered at once. “Plus, I’m not letting you go alone,” He mumbled, and T’Challa raised an eyebrow at the statement.

“I wasn’t going alone. Chanel was coming with me, but I thought it’d be nice for you two to have some down time, too,” She offered. “I knew Erik was probably going to come, but what about you, T’Challa?”

“Yes,” T’Challa had no damn idea what or who an Afropunk was, but Chanel being there was reason enough to go. “I would like to go to this...Afropunk,” He nodded quickly.

“Ooh, well then we have to get you proper clothes and stuff. You can’t wear slacks to this,” She giggled, standing up to her feet.

“What is it, exactly?” T’Challa raised an eyebrow.

N’Jadaka furrowed his brows before he and Leah looked at each other. “Ah...we got a _lot_ to teach you before we go, cuz.”

And teach them, they did.

T’Challa was versed on tons of music from the lineup for the black music festival, and by the time they touched down at JFK Airport, the King had officially shed himself of his title for the next two days. They would more than likely be stopped by people who knew them, but he felt more...normal, than he ever had before.

“We have to have a pizza here before we go back,” Leah had never been to New York before; T’Challa had been, but mostly for work. It would be up to N’Jadaka and Chanel to help them out with getting around. “And can we go out one night on the town?” She never once touched her boss as they walked towards baggage claim, but everything about their body language spoke a different tune as opposed to when they met.

“Sure, we can do that. It’s a vacation,” With a careless shrug of his shoulders, N’Jadaka stopped in front of the baggage conveyor that connected to their flight, picking up he and Leah’s bags. T’Challa grabbed his own bags, and they swiftly moved through the area. “Where your homegirl at? She made it here already, right?” He asked Leah.

“She should be here already—she better be, she’s the one who got us the suite and everything,” Leah led the way towards the car pickup, and T’Challa instantly began to walk with a bit more tension. It was a bit easier to conceal his feelings the last time they were all together, but he was uncertain he’d be able to do it this time.

“It’s about damn time y’all got here! Shit, it was getting hot out here,” He heard her voice, and he let out a slow sigh as he noticed the spacious Range Rover that she was leaning against. She looked cute and summery in her bright tank and shorts that hugged her broad hips. He noticed the bottom part of a tattoo on her left thigh, and he damn near twitched when he saw the bright purple dreads on her head—they were probably fake and specifically for the festival, but she looked...psychedelic with them. They fit her, somehow.

Chanel hugged Leah before unlocking the back hatch, allowing N’Jadaka to put their things in the trunk. T’Challa did the same, trying to ignore the bubbling at the pit of his stomach.

“Hey you,” He jumped slightly when he heard her voice, and he glanced over to Chanel before he bit into his lip, his heart melting at the sight of her.

“Hey,” He whispered, and she gently caressed his arm, making the touch so subtle that barely anyone noticed it.

He could feel his skin, already heated from the sunshine, burning at her touch. A short giggle parted from her lips, and she sent him a playful wink before moving towards the driver’s side of the car. He shook his head before he closed the hatch, deciding to take the front seat since the backseat was already filled.

Chanel had booked the two-bedroom suite at The Box House in North Brooklyn—she had gotten the room as a favor from one of her cousins, and thank goodness that she had the connection, because it was the last available room in the area for the duration of the festival. It was silently agreed upon how the living arrangement would be, and T’Challa was anxious to be alone with the woman. Despite his excitement, his exhaustion from the long flight was taking precedence. As soon as he got his bags in Chanel’s room, he took to the shower for a long and hot session to ease his cramped muscles.

When he exited the shower, he dried off and put on his boxers and a pair of basketball shorts Lean had brought him before the trip. He wasn’t used to being so casual, but he would be damned if he wasn’t comfortable. He exited the bathroom with his dirty clothes and sat them in one of the laundry bags before applying deodorant.

“Leah and Erik want to go out to eat and explore the city tonight, you wanna go?” T’Challa looked over his shoulder at Chanel, who was now lying across the bed with her attention in a book.

“That sounds fun,” He conceded, and she nodded before he sat his deodorant on the vanity, coming to join her in bed. He slowly moved on top of her, wrapping his arms around her waist before kissing her shoulder. “How was the flight here?” He asked.

“It was fine. Noisy as hell, but I can expect that,” She chuckled before she bookmarked her page, closing the book before she cradled her head in her arms, looking up at him. “You excited? Leah told me you’ve never been to Afropunk before. It’ll be fun—just like a black Coachella,” She explained.

“I’ve never been to that, either. I don’t come to America unless it’s for business most of the time,” T’Challa slowly rolled off Chanel in his own anxious fear of crushing her, but it only resulted in her crawling to him and climbing on top of him.

He slid his arms behind his head as she straddled him, and she shook her head. “Of course, I should have known,” She chuckled. “Well, this will be good for you. A vacation is what you and that lil’ asshole needs.”

“You need it as well. You work a lot as a lawyer, I assume. And being a mother is a full-time job,” T’Challa mused. “Speaking of, how is Leon? Is he well?” He asked.

“He is. He’s staying with my mama while I’m here, so I _know_ he’s just in hog heaven—spoiled self,” She sucked her teeth, causing T’Challa to laugh a bit.

“Mm. That’s how my grandmother was to me, so I cannot argue,” He mumbled, watching as Chanel ran her hands down his bare chest. His abdomen flexed slightly under the soft scrape of her nails, and he was welcomed with her soft kiss. “I missed you,” He whispered.

“I missed you more,” She smiled before hugging his torso. “Been thinking about you...” Her mouth moved to his jaw, then to his neck. He closed his eyes when he felt her soft nibbling against his skin, wrapping his arms around her waist. He expected more, but chuckled softly when he felt her body still. She was sleepy, and all it took to truly relax her was for her to be in his arms. So, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to rest.

* * *

 

The festival was filled with colorful people from all walks of life, dressed in all types of outfits that went from honing African roots to just being a homage to the carefree archetype. Colorful hairstyles and loud fabrics seemed to be the normal theme throughout the park; in fact, N’Jadaka’s simple outfit turned out to make him stand out.

T’Challa had been convinced to wear something that blended in; he was actually glad that all he had to put on was a pair of jeans and a patterned vest, since the heat felt a bit more bearable with it on. The girls went all out for the occasion; Leah honed her inner flower child with her white and gold bandeau bra and flowing skirt. Her hair sat on top of her head in a curly puff, and she wore a patterned scarf around her head like a bandana. Her gold bangles and chains nearly matched her boss’s, and T’Challa couldn’t help but laugh at Chanel when she commented on how ‘cute’ they looked. As for Chanel, she seemed to go for more of the ‘punk’ in Afropunk, wearing a fringed dashiki that had the same colors of her bright hair. Due to its length, her shorts could barely be seen, and her sandals showed off her toes that were painted a pastel purple.

They found a suitable place in the crowd, under a tent where other festival goers were socializing and enjoying each other’s company. Some of them knew N’Jadaka from his time living in New York in the past, and that gave the four access to the food and drinks the people had brought along. T’Challa just sat back, watching everyone around him. Music played from someone’s speakers and some of the women danced, whether it was by themselves, with a man, or with one another. Others were rolling marijuana blunts, the smoke soon clouding into the air—his cousin seemed to know how to do it flawlessly, and it wasn’t long before he was smoking one of his own, his assistant soon pulled into his lap as if she belonged there. That wasn’t any of T’Challa’s business, though.

“You wanna smoke?” His attention averted back to see Chanel using her claw-like nails to dig the tobacco out of the backwoods cigar in her hand. “Erik brought Girl Scout Cookies,” She explained.

“...I’m gonna assume that is the name of the marijuana,” T’Challa said after a long and silent use of context clues.

“Yeah,” Chanel smiled before she took some of the strain from the small baggie, and the King watched curiously as she placed it in a small canister. “What are you doing?”

“Grinding it. It’s gotta get smaller, then I’ll roll it in the backwoods shell,” She explained, and T’Challa watched quietly as she did as she said she had to. She gently ran her tongue along the side, then grabbed the black metallic lighter from the table, lighting the place she licked. Placing the newly sealed blunt to her lips, she lit the other end and took a deep inhale, blowing out a slow wad of smoke after holding it within her chest. He was stunned by how attractive she could even make something as repulsive as smoking look. “You want a hit?” She held it out to him, and he stared down at it before he shrugged.

“Just one,” He watched as she moved to sit in his lap, and he let out a low grunt before he took the blunt from her hand. “Really?” She was just testing him now.

“It’s easier to give to you this way,” She chuckled, and he took it before he pressed the blunt to his lips. “Just inhale slowly and try not to—...” T’Challa breathed in far too fast, and his chest burned almost immediately after. He coughed loudly, and Chanel frowned as she heard N’Jadaka’s loud laughter. “Shut the fuck up!” She picked up a napkin, wadding it up and tossing it at the laughing male.

“Fuck you,” He passed a bottle of water before he shook his head, shooting T’Challa a playful grin. “Don’t die over there, old timer,” He teased, causing Leah to shake her head as she rested against his chest.

“Mind your business,” T’Challa furrowed his eyebrows, his voice coming out in a hoarse grunt. He uncapped the water and took a long gulp, waiting for his throat to calm its burn.

Chanel took another hit from the blunt before she let the smoke release from her nostrils. She passed the blunt back to T’Challa, her voice lowering as she pressed a hand to his stomach. “Try again, baby,” She coaxed, and he took a shallow breath before he pressed it to his mouth.

Inhale. Slowly. Hold it in your chest. Don’t rush it.

The smoke slowly tumbled from his lips, and he lifted his eyes to see that Chanel was watching him, her teeth gnawing into the plump flesh of her glossed lip. “There you go,” She encouraged, her fingernails slowly digging into his flesh. He growled slightly before he raised a warning eyebrow, taking another hit from the blunt as he kept his eyes on her. Chanel pressed her nails against his skin with more force, and he blew the smoke in her face, his chuckle mixing with her giggle.

The day’s energy seemed to be centered around the cat and mouse game that Chanel and T’Challa had created—between the smoke, the drinks, and the little ways Chanel would tease her mate, their tension was building ever slowly. During some of the sets the two decided to join the crowd near the stage, and the King was distracted for most of the performances; the provocative sway of Chanel’s hips proved to be far more entertaining, especially when she decided to press up against him. She smelled like that sweet and earthy weed they had been mingling in, and T’Challa was sure that it was his intake that made him feel like he was becoming akin to lava, molten and liable to destroy whatever he decided to touch.

The four returned to the hotel once the festival had let out for the night, and Leah and N’Jadaka’s excited conversation about Tyler, The Creator seemed to carry throughout the suite until they disappeared into their room. Meanwhile, T’Challa followed Chanel into their bedroom, and he shut the door behind them, watching her closely as she took her shades off her head and tossed them onto the dresser.

“So, are you finished?” Chanel looked over her shoulder with a raised brow, and T’Challa crossed his arms over his chest. “Teasing me, making me want you—are you finished?” He furrowed his eyebrows, his gaze still upon her.

Chanel arched a brow before a small smirk tugged at the corner of her lip; T’Challa’s disgruntled expression never changed. He swallowed her stance in an instant, his figure cut and a bit leaner, but still larger than hers. Their eyes danced with the wild desire that had built over the accumulating hours, days, weeks. The subtle sexual texts, the photos, the FaceTime calls, the videos...it had all come down to this. The King had run out of patience. “Well, I’m here, Your Majesty. Like I said, keep the energy. I just wanted to keep you warm until it was time,” Her slick mouth was as much of a turn-on as it was a hinderance.

He backed away from her before he took a seat on the side of the bed. “I want you out of your clothes,” T’Challa kept his voice low, steady, controlled; he watched her thighs slowly press together. “Now, Chanel,” He demanded. He pressed his hands into the sides of the bed, his fingers digging into the cotton of the sheets as he watched Chanel slide off her dashiki, tossing it to the side before she ran a hand through her locs, brown eyes blazing into his own. His gaze averted downwards, surveying a small but perky chest, admiring her flattened and pierced stomach, committing her child-bearing hips to memory. He watched her unbutton her shorts with ease, and the denim all but melted down her thick thighs, down her long legs that almost seemed dancer-like. Her sneakers and socks came off last, but when she went to remove her undergarments— “Stop,” Chanel halted her movements, and she stood up straight, raising an eyebrow T’Challa took another survey of her body. She probably could look good in any color, but the image of her body encased in black silk and lace, her hair almost the color of the energy that stored in his suit, and the pseudo-tribal markings of the tattoo on her thigh caused his eyes to darken with an almost unreal amount of desire. Grabbing her by the hand, he brought her to him, silently motioning for her to lay across his lap.

With no argument, the woman laid across his lap, her back already arched and her ass already hoisted in the air. She knew what to do and how to do it without instruction, and the King was pleased. His hand gingerly caressed her ass, the stark contrast of skin-to-skin looking like chocolate on top of caramel. All T’Challa could think about was her perfect, creamy complexion...reddened. Bruised. His hand instantly struck her ass, and she whimpered to keep from making too much noise. Upon contact, his nails dug into her flesh, and she let out a small whine.

“You have teased me for far too long, sweetheart,” His voice never rose as he spoke to her, his hand moving to slap the other ass cheek, a shuddering sigh coming from below him in response. “You get a kick out of abusing the power you have over me,” He was almost scolding her. He smacked her ass again. “Now, I _will_ make you regret it,” Smack.

“I’m s-s-sorry,” Chanel stammered. Smack. “Ah! I—I’m sorr—...” Smack. “Ah!”

“You are far from remorseful, siren,” He chuckled. “But I’ll make you sorry for it.” Smack.

He alternated fluidly from cheek to cheek, listening to her whimpers and watching her skin slowly brighten red from the force of his palm. His pants felt tight beneath her, but he was patient with himself; his focus was on her warm skin, upon her whimpers and whines. She was so sorry for her actions, she chanted. He licked over his lips and placed his palms on her ass cheeks, slowly rubbing her skin to soothe it. He spread them slowly, her mound slightly swallowing the material of her thong—she was wet, and it was showing through the material. His chuckle was wicked, and he sighed as he closed his eyes. “On your knees, darling.”

He watched her slowly climb off his lap, and she lowered herself onto her knees, uncomfortably shifting on the carpeted floor before she looked up at him, her tongue gliding across her lips as he stood up, sliding off his vest and revealing his barren chest. He unfastened the belt to his jeans, unsheathing the leather from the loops before tossing it to the side. He unfastened the button and zipper with ease, and soon let the denim and boxers join in the messy pile of clothes. His length was dark, hardened and nearly angry looking as it stuck out in a slight upward curve; he gripped the base and pressed the tip to Chanel’s lips, tapping them softly as he heard her soft giggle. He gave her a soft smile before he watched her part her lips, and he slipped himself into her mouth, inch by inch.

The warm wetness of her mouth sent shivers all over his body, and her unwavering gaze didn’t seem to help matters. The bob of her head was slow and fluid, her cheeks rhythmically sucking in and out and her tongue lazily wagging against every protruding vein. His nostrils flared as he watched her, her mouth growing closer to his pelvis until he finally felt her nose softly graze the thin layer of pubic hair that lay at the base. The soft gag that came with the feat of filling her mouth caused him to groan, and he decided that this wasn’t nearly enough. So, he gripped the end of her locs and slowly wrapped them around his fist. His hips buckled slowly, rhythmically, strategically. He watched the print of him nearly press against her throat, and he furrowed his eyebrows as he allowed the strokes to harshen. Harder and harder he went, and the soft gags grew louder.

“Uh-huh. This is what you wanted, ah?” T’Challa’s mumble was throaty and filled with bass, and Chanel moaned against his piece, the vibrations causing his eyelids to lower in a weakened flutter. “You wanted your mouth fucked, right? To be violated as my pet...as my slut,” He growled. “Yes. This was what you wanted...” Chanel’s eyes were fierce as she watched him, teary disposition be damned. Spit rolled from the corners of her mouth, dripping down her chin as he continued to roughly push and force himself down her throat. Her gags and struggles for breath were electricity through his bones, but he wanted to hear her voice. He pulled back and slowly tapped his tip against her tongue as she wagged it out slowly.

She sighed softly before she closed her eyes briefly, shedding the tears that welled at the corners of them. “Th-thank you,” She whimpered. “Thank you, my king...”

His gaze was contradicting—pupils were dark with lust, but soft with the passion that hid behind the madness. She was driving him crazy, and he wasn’t anywhere near being done. Pulling her to her feet, his lips crashed into hers, barely minding the slightly salty taste of her mouth. He gripped the back of her head tightly as his tongue curled around hers, his other hand tightly gripping and smacking her ass; he chuckled against her mouth when he felt her wince and wiggle against him from the pain.

Once he pulled away, he grabbed the belt and carefully wrapped it around her neck, holding the end of it before he slowly forced her forward, their bodies pressed together and their heartbeats thumping in a wild synchronize. Turning their positions around, T’Challa placed her against the bed and ran his free hand down her stomach. “Stay like this. Don’t touch anything,” He walked away from her to grab a condom from his luggage, unwrapping and placing it onto him carefully before returning to his playmate. He laughed softly at the sight, pulling at the crotch of her thong until they pulled from her mound with a sticky sound. “Messy,” He playfully scolded.

“Your fault,” She countered.

“Indeed,” He pulled the flimsy material to the side, rubbing his tip against her engorged nub; he watched her face contort, the pleasured expression enough to make him want to ram into her. However, he seemed to still be transfixed on teasing her.

“T’Challa...” Her tone was sweet in his ears, and he bit into his lip as he watched as she tried to speak, quiet whimpers breaking through her conscious stream of thought. “Baby, please...”

He slowly slid into her, their heavy exhales mixing together as her walls molded taut around his girth. He narrowed his eyes as he leaned into her, slowly pumping his hips to allow her time to get used to him. The combination of her warmth, the snug fit, and the wet noises forced him to stay at a slow stroke—anything else would end the fun too quickly for his liking. He was never known for swiftness here, and he wouldn’t start to anytime soon. “I wish I was better prepared,” He mumbled, still guiding himself inside her. “This would have been more fun if I had tied you up...gagged you, maybe...” Chanel gasped, and his melodic laugh slipped as he pushed deeper inside her, clearly drunk on his own desire for her. She clearly had never seen him in this element, and if her body’s reactions counted for anything, she enjoyed it just as much as he.

Soon she grew used to him, and he began to rock into her with slow and rough strokes, one hand still tightly holding the belt, the other placed against her hip. He kissed the side of her face, the tender action contrasting with the unforgiving force of his strokes. His lips brushed against hers, and he tried not to close his eyes, in love with the blissful look of helplessness on her face. “Shit,” She hissed, running her nails down his arms, his biceps flexing at her touch. Every minute that passed it became easier to access her, so he pushed himself to dig into her with harsher force, and before long he was shoving into her, balls full and smacking at her ass with a soft noise that interlaced with her sweet moans. He kissed her again as he met her spot, causing her to wail out louder than she intended. “’Chal,” She whimpered.

“Say it again,” He sighed. “Say my name again.”

“T’Challa...”

“Fucking again, baby. Let the city know who you belong to.”

“T’Challa!”

“You’re mine. You hear me? This pussy is mine.”

“Fuck, yes! It’s fucking yours!”

He growled lowly as he breathed against her ear, closing his eyes as he felt her legs wrap around his waist. He bucked and rammed into her, his movements slowly becoming sporadic and losing rhythm. He squeezed his eyes shut before he suddenly pulled out. He had almost forgotten, but the watering of his mouth brought him back down from his high. He pulled out of her and laid on his back before he reached to grip her thigh. “On my face, pet. You made a promise.”

Chanel eagerly climbed on top of her mate, and T’Challa quickly inspected her middle, reddened and slightly swollen from the contact he had given her already. He smiled and leaned up to suck on one lip, then the other, hearing her strained grunt from the mixed pleasure and pain. He nibbled against them next, hearing her whine as her nails dug into her thighs as she held onto them. “God, c’mon...please, just eat me, Daddy. Please,” She begged, and he raised an eyebrow at the name. That sounded _damn_ good, and it put a fire under him. He dove into her, his hands clinging to her hips as he forced her to smother his face.

Her head tilted back as she let out a long hiss, and her hips began to move against his mouth. Her thighs squeezed the side of his face, and her wetness seemed to glaze out of her as she felt his tongue expertly explore her clit and probe at her sensitive entrance. She squeezed her eyes shut as she rode his mouth with ease, and he closed his eyes as he did as he had been thinking of doing for the longest. As tasteless as she was, in his mind, she might as well had been the sweetest indulgence he had ever experienced. He could stay down there forever if he could, but it wasn’t long before he felt her walls tighten around his tongue. “Mm-mm,” He pulled his mouth from her. “You better not, Chanel. Hold it,” She whined as he reached over to circle his fingertip around her clit. “You’ve made me wait. You will wait, understand?” She huffed, and he stared up at her, eyes mischievous as he slipped her back onto his tongue. His eyes were forced closed as she bounced on his tongue, and she growled lowly through gritted teeth.

“Let me cum,” She whimpered. “Goddamn it, let me cum,” Her tone came out as a demand, and T’Challa turned his tongue upwards towards her spot in defiance. She wouldn’t get what she wanted, not until she asked properly. He could hear her whimpers turn into soft sobs, and while crying usually would crack into his sensitivities, this only made him want her more. “Please,” She sobbed. “Please let me cum.”

He hummed and squeezed her hips as a voiceless permission, and he felt her thighs rumble against his face, his mouth suddenly flooded with her essence. He guzzled down her offering greedily, the sloppy sounds of his receival causing her tremble to become a full-body experience.

Once he felt her quaking body begin to calm, he forced her off him, and he sat up, face sticky with her juices. “On your stomach,” He breathed, and she moved onto her hands and knees. She pressed her upper half against the bed, her ass hoisted in the air and ready for more of him. He moved behind her and adjusted his condom a bit, nodding as he slid back into her, feeling as if he had never left her. “Damn it,” He gritted, gripping her hip with one hand before adjusting the belt around her neck, making it easier for him to hold onto it. He pumped into her feverishly, hearing her wails and cries into the pillow as he watched her, his eyes deep and empty of any other emotion other than dominance. Chanel moaned and cried his name, begging for a bit of reprieve as he leaned down against her, his chest nestled against her back. He groaned into her ear before giving the lobe a playful nip, and he closed his eyes as he kept bucking into her. “You’re such a good girl...so good to your king...” He whispered. “So wet and tight...I hear how you cream for me.” He let out a ragged breath. “Such a beautiful little pet...my perfect,” He rammed into her. “Little,” And again. “Whore,” And again.

Chanel squeezed her eyes shut, and she mumbled something inaudible initially, but as T’Challa’s lips pressed to hers, it became clearer: “I love being your whore.”

He bit into her bottom lip softly, tugging at it as he felt his stomach seize a bit, and he squeezed his eyes shut as continued to thrust into her. “Cum with me,” He whispered, and she nodded, her eyes flying open and keeping his intense gaze. He slowed his stroke once he felt her walls become unbearably tight, and the two’s curses became lost in the sheets as they finally reached paradise together.

Their bodies sank slowly into the sheets, shuddered breaths and trembling thighs causing both to let out breathless laughs of bliss. Eventually, T’Challa slowly slid out of her, lifting himself off her body before taking the belt from around her neck. They walked together to the bathroom and set up a hot shower; he allowed the lady to enter first before he came in behind her, shutting the glass door as the steaming water fell upon Chanel’s body as if it was rain. She was glowing despite the slight bruise around her neck and the bruises on her ass and thighs, and he couldn’t help but to note the elated smile on her face. He pulled her to him, enveloping her in a warm embrace before placing soft and sensual kisses against her temples, her eyelids, her cheeks, her nose, her chin, her mouth. He never felt so alive, so in control when everything felt out of control in his life. For once he truly felt like he had solitary say-so.

“Are you alright, my sweet?” He mumbled, and she hummed in response. “Are you sure? I did not hurt you badly, did I?”

“No,” Chanel laid her head on his chest. “You were perfect...just what I asked for, and more,” He grinned as he leaned his head back against the glass wall.


	4. Where I Wanna Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik has some advice for T'Challa, and somebody's getting married.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Inspiration: Where I Wanna Be x Donell Jones. Also, follow me on tumblr: kiillhunger. That's where I had this posted initially, so if you want to see some of the other shit I'm into, that's where I usually am. Anyway, I appreciate all the readers and stuff. Enjoy.

The clangs of pots and pans made Chanel wish she was a deeper sleeper—having Leon around forced her to be alert even when she slept, just in case he woke up in the middle of the night or needed something from her. However, she didn’t appreciate her housemates clanging about. She placed a pillow over her head, sighing softly before she yawned, sitting up in the bed with a fixed pout on her face. To the right of her was T’Challa, in the deepest sleep anyone could be in. His body was sprawled out against the mattress, light snores coming from his body.

“Lucky bastard,” Chanel mumbled, reaching over to play in his coarse hair. She leaned over and kissed his forehead before getting out of bed, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She looked over her shoulder and noticed the dreary scenery, rain pattering against the window. Well, they’d be in the suite for a bit. She approached the vanity mirror and she glanced at her neck, running her fingers across the slight marks. In the heat of it, Chanel was more than down with T’Challa’s more dominant side. Looking back, she had to figure out how the hell she was going to explain the marks to her best friend. Then there were the fading but visible bruises on her ass and on the back of her thighs, and the overall soreness of her body. Thankfully, the shower from earlier had eased some of the pain, but she was certain that her walk wasn’t aligned.

She told him to bring his energy, but not _that_ much.

Chanel slowly crept out of the room, closing the door behind her before she heard a soft giggle from the kitchen. She twisted her lips to the side before she peeked around the corner, watching as Leah attempted to cook at the stove, Erik behind her and being the distraction that he always seemed to be. Chanel just rolled her eyes; she and Erik didn’t dislike nor like one another, and it was probably because they both had mouths that were untamable.

She initially tried to flirt and throw advances his way when she first got to Wakanda, but that intent quickly diminished when she realized how fucking mean he was. Clearly though, he was better matched for Leah. Out of all the students that came and went in Erik’s path, Leah seemed to be the one he disliked the least. And now, it was showing clearly. Hell, he was even smiling and laughing with the girl as he held her in his arms, planting kisses to her shoulder. He’d whisper something in Leah’s ear, and the girl would just fawn all over him before they’d kiss and carry on. Chanel thought it was cute, as long as he didn’t fuck it up.

“Good morning,” Chanel decided not to lurk any longer, and nearly laughed when Erik all but jumped across the kitchen to separate himself from Leah. Her attention didn’t focus on that for too long, though—she had to focus on keeping her walk straight. “How’d y’all sleep?”

“It was fine,” Leah yawed before she faced the stove. “How was your sleep? T’Challa up yet?” She asked.

“It was cool, and he’s still sleep,” Chanel sat at the bar, and she glanced over at Erik, who was staring directly at her. He shook his head and leaned back against the bar, the look on his face almost...knowing.

Chanel rolled her eyes. She was now certain that at least _he_ heard their ruckus the night before. Maybe Leah heard it too, but she knew her little fucker of a boyfriend was going to be a dick about it. “Well he had better wake up, because I know this one is gonna try to eat all the bacon,” Leah shook her head.

“Not my fault. I’m a growing boy, you know,” Erik picked an apple out of the fruit bowl sitting on the bartop, rubbing it against his tank before biting into it.

“I swear to God,” Leah and Chanel murmured in unison, receiving a suck of the teeth from the dark prince.

A groggy yawn came from the hallway, and Chanel shuffled in her seat as T’Challa emerged from the hallway. “Good morning,” He yawned.

“Morning, sunshine,” Leah joked, swatting at his hand as he took a slice of bacon. “You were knocked out,” She commented.

“That’s that cat sleep,” Erik commented with a chuckle, and Chanel’s eyes rolled as T’Challa took a seat next to her.

“Not sure what that means, but I’m ignoring you,” T’Challa let out a small chuckle before he bit into the strip of bacon. Chanel watched as Leah began to playfully argue with Erik about his mouth, not noticing T’Challa’s eyes upon her. “You slept okay?” She felt his fingertips against her thigh, and she looked over to him with a small nod, her worries soon fading once she saw his innocent smile.

“I did,” Chanel took the rest of his bacon, chewing it quickly as she felt his palm gently glide over the top of her thigh. “I hope this rain ends, because I don’t want to be cooped up in this suite all day,” She yawned.

“I don’t mind, either way. I brought movies just in case!” Leah held up a finger before she began to pass out plates of eggs, bacon, and biscuits. “I’ve got our favorites,” She nodded at Chanel with a grin. “Then, I got a certain collection for a certain someone,” She wiggled her eyebrows before reaching to tug at one of Erik’s dreads.

“Collection?” T’Challa commented, covering his full mouth.

“Yup. Full box set of _Full Metal Alchemist: Brotherhood_ ,” Chanel snickered when she noticed the sudden raise of Erik’s eyebrows, his loud laugh coming soon after.

“Y’all can do what you want, _we’re_ staying in,” Erik’s smile was childish and cheesy as Leah sat next to him, and he shamelessly planted a smooch on her cheek soon after.

Anime clearly brought out the lover in him; T’Challa and Chanel shared a look, shock mixed with knowing before they shared a small smile. Once they felt that they were somewhat left to their own devices, T’Challa ate another forkful of scrambled eggs. “Hm...so do you want to stay in even if the rain clears? I’m unsure about this show Leah speaks of, but it should be relaxing,” He spoke, and Chanel nodded.

“Sure, I don’t mind. Plus, I don’t want to be out in the heat after it’s wet,” Chanel ate her food quietly, gently pressing her thighs together when she felt the King’s hand pressed against her inner thigh.

After breakfast, the living room became a camping ground for a ‘movie day;’ to balance the content, Erik was forced to endure watching _Booty Call,_ one of Chanel’s favorite movies. Poetic Justice seemed to be up everyone’s alley, especially for T’Challa, his interest in poetry piqued. Afterward, Erik and Leah were having a ball watching the anime she had bought for him; he animatedly explained nearly every character and their roles to Leah, who seemed to be more than happy to listen to him. Leah was never the nerdy type, so it was a sight to see her trying to make sense of the one thing that seemed to crack Erik’s cool demeanor. But to see him so engaged and so willing to discuss it with her was touching.

Meanwhile, T’Challa was busied with Chanel’s cell phone, his head laid against her lap. Chanel played in his hair as he scrolled through her photos, yawning as she laid her head against the back of the couch. She was slightly following the show—two boys were looking for ways to restore their broken bodies after a failed attempt of reviving their mother. There were other plots involved, but it mostly centered around the two boys. This wasn’t her usual thing, but she could see herself possibly sitting down to see how things unfolded.

“My sweet,” Her stomach fluttered with butterflies at T’Challa’s amused tone, and her gaze flickered downwards to his smiling face. He turned her phone towards her, laughs laced in his voice: “Is this you?”

Chanel sucked her teeth with a small laugh, noting the young girl in the photo—huge twists with ball-balls on the ends, a cheesy smile with two missing front teeth, and dressed in the uniform of the elementary school she attended. “Yeah, that’s me. I was...six, in this picture,” She was kind of embarrassed at the sight.

“Leon looks just as you did. It is uncanny,” He shook his head. “So adorable. I bet you were a handful,” He teased.

“What? I was a good girl!” She huffed, and he smirked before he swiped his thumb across the screen.

“Mhm,” He hummed softly before he showed her the screen again. “I assumed you were a dancer,” Chanel noted the leotard and high school shorts.

“Mhm. Started in ballet when I was four, then went on from there. I got to UCLA on a dancing scholarship,” She mumbled, and they paused their conversation to move about on the couch. Their new position put Chanel in the ‘small spoon’ role, laying with T’Challa’s head comfortably rested against her neck. “It was mostly a hobby, but I still exercise like I dance,” She yawned.

“I... believe you,” T’Challa’s subtle comment nearly made Chanel cackle, causing a harsh shush from Erik, who was damn near glued against the TV. The two stared at the killer, who had his usual scowl. Erik glanced them over, a small smirk crossing his face before he turned back around.

T’Challa scrolled through some more photos before he stopped, and Chanel cooed softly. “Look at my baby,” It was Leon when he was born. He was sleeping in Chanel’s arms in the hospital room, and she could almost remember the day vividly. “21 hours of labor; it was worth every minute,” She whispered.

“I’m sure it was,” T’Challa planted a kiss behind her ear, and she closed her eyes with a small smile. “He is the luckiest in the world to have you, dear,” He murmured, and she felt her cheeks fluster.

“Nope, we’re skipping this shit. I’m not fucking with this episode,” Erik suddenly said, and Leah whined softly as he snatched the remote out of her hand.

“But I gotta know what happens to Nina,” Leah complained, and he shook his head as he paused the episode, proceeding to the menu. “Erik!”

“Watch it on your own time. I can’t deal with that shit,” He mumbled, and she groaned as she laid across his back.

“Is the married couple having problems down there?” Chanel teased.

“Worry about your man up there,” Erik teased in return, causing Leah to let out a small laugh.

“Assholes,” Chanel mumbled, sucking her teeth when she felt a soft rumble behind her. “Ah—‘Chal!” She smacked his arm, and he snickered as he hid his face into her shoulder blade.

“You had it coming, baby,” He mumbled, and she rolled her eyes as she felt soft licks at the spot between her neck and shoulder.

* * *

 

“Now that we’ve got some time alone, let’s talk, cuz.”

T’Challa had hit the Wakandan ground running—the vacation was much needed for everyone involved, for himself and his Advisor especially. Despite the work waiting back home, he and N’Jadaka seemed to be almost in perfect wavelength as they waved through the mounds of paperwork and mediated heated Counsel meetings. The two were in starkly better moods, and it seemed to slowly but surely spread throughout the palace. Even the often-confrontational leader of the Mining Tribe seemed to be in lighter spirits due to the dazzling work of The Panther and The Jaguar.

But now, the two were alone in the throne room, waiting on a traveling visitor. It seemed that N’Jadaka’s mood was still chipper...but also, that same old smugness seemed to seep into his attitude. T’Challa had a feeling where this ‘talk’ was going to go.

“Okay, let’s talk,” T’Challa tapped his fingers against his knee, looking the male over.

The American Brute glanced over the rings on his fingers lazily before he clasped his hands together quickly. “A’ight,” N’Jadaka’s eyes met T’Challa’s, curiosity swirling in the darkness of them. “What’s good with you and Chanel? I thought Nakia was your shorty,” There it was.

T’Challa felt a headache surge through his brain, not entirely wanting to discuss it. However, it was some time ago that his cousin had divulged his possible—and now situationally confirmed—feelings for Leah. There was no harm in being honest as well. “Nakia and I... Well, we are what we are, right now. Her job asks a lot of her, as does mine,” He explained.

“Oh, so Chanel’s your pussy on the side,” N’Jadaka’s chuckle seemed to miff the King more than he expected it to. “Never thought you’d be the type, but hey, I ain’t mad.”

“She is not simply a side piece,” T’Challa didn’t realize how irritated he sounded until he noticed the shocked look on his cousin’s face. “She is my friend. We just so happen to have an understanding,” He reasoned.

“Uh- _huh_. And you got feelings for her ass,” N’Jadaka laughed again. “Woo, nigga. Good luck,” He clasped his hands together, slouching back in his seat.

“Good luck? Nakia knows I have this going on, and Chanel knows about Nakia. Everyone involved is aware of one another. I haven’t led anyone on,” T’Challa tried to think of all the facts and tried to cross all t’s and dot all I’s.

“That ain’t got shit to do with shit,” That foul mouth never ceased, even when the killer was in a talkative mood. “Nakia been your main, right? Y’all love each other. Cute. Now, you got Chanel. Beautiful girl, cool personality when she not being annoying...freaky as fuck, if what I heard in New York was any indication,” T’Challa stiffened in his seat. His face instantly burned, and he placed his palm against his face.

“N’Jadaka, can you _please,_ ” He groaned. “Do you know any decency?”

“I should ask you!” The male sucked his teeth. “Anyway. You got this dope ass honey on the side that you can chill with when this King shit get too much. That’s cool and all, but think about it; you think she just out here fucking with you on that level and she don’t feel anything for you? Like, nothing at all?” N’Jadaka’s laugh was getting grating...slowly, but surely. He was getting too much satisfaction out of T’Challa’s predicament. “I know you’re supposed to be the goody-two-shoes with the charming naivete out of the two of us, but I doubt you’re that stupid,” He waved his hand dismissively.

“You seem to know a lot for a man who’s in his first relationship,” T’Challa didn’t mean to send a low blow, but it slipped faster than he anticipated. The darkened scowl on the man’s face instantly made him wish he had better care of his words. “I apologize. You were merely speaking your mind,” He sighed.

“You good. I just hope your lil’ dumb ass knows what to do when one of them decide to cut your dick off. At least I don’t gotta worry about that; I know where my dick supposed to rest at,” N’Jadaka raised a challenging eyebrow. Americans and their comebacks...vicious as always.

“My King...Advisor,” One of the Dora entered the room, gently nodding her head. She was new to the fleet, and it was clear in how winded and uncoordinated she seemed to be around the two. “Lord M’Baku of the Jabari tribe has arrived,” She announced.

“Let him in,” T’Challa mumbled.

The soldier opened the door, and the large man entered the throne room, instantly removing the fur bag that laid across his chest. His eyes scanned over the room before he let out a low gruff. “I do despise the Wakandan heat. What hassle,” He mumbled to himself. T’Challa noticed the smaller female that stood next to the warrior, and he instantly felt a sense of...familiarity.

“Ah...M’Baku,” T’Challa cleared his throat, glancing over to his cousin, whose curious eyes observed the woman as well. “What brings you down from the mountains? You have already missed the Counsel meeting...again,” The King kept an invitation open for the outsider to join them for a meeting, but it never met an answer, let alone an appearance.

M’Baku let out an amused grunt, rubbing his large palms together. “I would rather not be bothered with your minions as they fiddle with their fingers, trying to find another way to make a harlot of technology,” Disinterest weaved all though his voice, and he even had the nerve to yawn. “I am here to invite you to my union,” His _union_?

“You are to be...married?” T’Challa asked, genuinely surprised.

“Who the fuck is marrying you?” M’Baku barked, and N’Jadaka growled in return.

“For your information, feral kitten,” M’Baku spat, his disgruntled face soon dissolving to one of a more placid state, and T’Challa kept eye of the smaller woman that rubbed at his bicep, her murmur causing a sweet and loving buzz in T’Challa’s ear. She was so familiar for some reason. Whoever she was she seemed to keep the man in check, somehow. There was usually no calming M’Baku once he even felt somewhat offended. But his tense stature seemed to melt on contact. “There would be plenty of women who would be happy to marry me. Such as my sweet Danielle, for example.”

“ _That’s_ where I know you from,” T’Challa finally said, snapping his fingers. “You arrived here with Miss Leah, yes?” He asked.

She nodded briefly before she gave a muted smile. “I would have come to invite you, but he wouldn’t let me come alone. So... Yeah, you’re invited!” She wiggled her fingers excitedly, and T’Challa merely chuckled to himself as he nodded. She was very...odd. She had been odd since she first arrived here.

Perfect for the oddest man that the King had ever known.

* * *

 

“I know she said she was going to travel the continent for a while, but I didn’t know _this_ was what she meant,” Leah looked like a fur ball, bundled up like a small child and hoisted on the back of her boss. T’Challa stayed a couple of steps behind, tightening his grip on Nakia’s hand as they walked alongside each other.

“I told you shorty was a fucking weirdo. Who willingly moves to the mountains and marries the first nigga they see?” N’Jadaka scoffed lightly. “Should’ve known somethin’ when the girl said she was vegan,” He mumbled.

“Be nice for once, Erik. Please?” Leah laid her head on his back, causing the male to mumble incoherent grievances. “At least we get some type of food,” She thought of a consolation.

“True. The trek up here won’t be for nothing,” Nakia chimed in, and T’Challa chuckled softly at the man’s groan.

“A’ight, fine—but if these niggas get to barking and shit, I’m tumbling down this fucking mountain.”

Fall season didn’t really seem to matter much in the uncharted lands of the Jabari Tribe—despite the beauty of the golden trees, light flurries of snow still seemed to fall and the cold was still absolutely biting. T’Challa felt strange being here again, especially for something so...odd, such as a wedding. The idea of a Jabari wedding wasn’t odd, but the fact that M’Baku had been subdued long enough to be convinced that a woman could ever be in his life. He always saw the man riding solo, so this was news to him. However, he distinctly remembered not seeing Danielle leave Wakanda as everyone else did. She stayed in the city for a while with Leah, but suddenly he stopped hearing of her. Apparently, this was where she had been all this time. He wondered what her folks would think of her discarding all her previous life to start another. It was a different kind of bravery.

Upon entering the settlement, T’Challa was instantly reminded of the strong sense of community, as it seemed that everything around them was decorated and in-waiting for the emergence of the Jabari’s new leading lady. He still found himself a bit confused, but happy for his...friend? More like a semi-friendly acquaintance, but it didn’t stop him from being happy for M’Baku. Everyone deserved love, and it seemed to be all around the King, lately. It made him a bit longing for the end game himself.

He had always been the sentimental type, and maybe even a bit old-fashioned. After years of his mother and father be so in love, so in tune, and in a partnership that seemed to be second to none, T’Challa always wanted that for himself and those around him. The concept of love made him feel human when there were times that he seemed disconnected from the rest of the world around him. He wanted it all; he didn’t just want the things that made love look good, but the things that made it feel ugly and unbearable. He wanted the fights, the disagreements, the struggle, and the tears, so that he could enjoy the sunshine after the rain. He wanted that swell in the chest whenever he saw the one he loved doing and living her very best. He eventually wanted his own family to take care of...daughters and sons that hopefully would feel and understand how much he would love and protect them. Hopeless didn’t even begin to describe his romantics.

The ceremony seemed to go off without much delay or trouble—M’Baku’s private garden could only hold so many people, and aside from T’Challa himself, Nakia, Leah and N’Jadaka, and a couple of M’Baku’s most trusted warriors, the rest of the tribe seemed to wait from the outside of the Lord’s Quarters for word of his union being final. Danielle was dressed in a beautiful garment that seemed to be made just for her, lined with fur and leather. There was praise to the Gorilla God Hanuman, promises of eternal devotion, and the consumption of some type of nectar that grew from the Jabari’s oldest and most fruitful of trees. After the union was sealed, there was a meal and dancing to drums as embers of fire seemed to lift into the night sky. Everyone was happy, but none happier than the tribe’s leader. T’Challa had never seen M’Baku smile so much. The good mood seeped into everyone, and even N’Jadaka shed his attitude to enjoy the festivities; it was hard for him to be all that mad with Leah tacking advantage of the lack of attention and doting upon him every chance she could.

T'Challa soaked in the good vibes, and he couldn’t help but to feel this warmth around him. However, he noticed that Nakia seemed...lost. In a daze, almost. “Nakia?” He watched as she glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “What’s the matter?” He sipped on his glass of water, relishing in its bitter chill.

“Nothing, I’m thinking,” She said to herself, swiping her hand against her cheek lightly. The reflection of the large bonfire at the center of the party danced within her eyes in an almost tragic tango. “Let’s go for a walk. I want to talk to you.”

T’Challa followed Nakia without a second word. The two ended up outside of M’Baku’s quarters, and it seemed that the air was clearer there. Night had long since set in, and small flakes of snow seemed to flutter down from the sky. Pulling his gloves from his pocket, the King slid them back on his hands as he walked beside Nakia, who was still quiet and thoughtful. “Are you sure there is nothing wrong, my love?”

“I want to come home, T’Challa.”

The silence that followed was...eerie. T’Challa knew what that meant, and he was overjoyed without doubt. But there was something bothering him, and the unknowingly sick feeling was trickling at the back of his conscience. “O-Okay,” He answered, turning to face her. “What caused this decision?” He felt kind of naïve, almost dumb, for asking the question. All he had been wanting was for Nakia to finally relent to the idea of their marriage, and now he was questioning her about it instead of just accepting and celebrating that she was finally warming up to the concept.

“I don’t know if it was the wedding, or what,” Nakia sighed as she glanced down at her nails, shaking her head. “But I’m ready. I know that I want to be with you—I’ve always wanted you. I just love myself enough to know that I want to be more than just a Queen,” She reasoned. “I don’t want to be watered down by expectation,” She frowned slightly before she shook her head. “But I’m going to take my own advice. I can be the Queen that I want to be,” T’Challa could have hollered to the heavens. Finally, she was understanding!

“Exactly. That is exactly right,” T’Challa let out a slow sigh before he took her hands in his. “I have prayed for this day to come sooner than later. My waiting will have not been in vain, I am sure of it,” He smiled as he felt her hands squeeze his own. “I love you, Nakia.”

“And I love you,” She murmured, a demure smile etched into her features. Their lips met in a soft kiss, and the usual butterflies that filled the man’s stomach returned with a vengeance. “But there is one thing that needs to be settled,” She spoke once their lips parted.

“Considered it settled already,” He whispered quickly, and she shook her head. “What is it?” He furrowed his eyebrows.

“Your friend,” Nakia reminded, and T’Challa now realized why he felt that chill in the back of his neck. “Does she know? What’s the status with that?” She pressed.

“She knows of you and our situation—or, to be specific, she knows what our situation was,” T’Challa spoke carefully, slowly; it was a sign of his stress.

“She needs to be notified of what it is, now. Tie your loose ends, my king,” Nakia didn’t seem upset, but she was firm in her stance. “We cannot go forward with our plans until you’ve dealt with that,” She declared.

“Right,” T’Challa knew it would come to this. It was what he and Chanel agreed upon, but he oddly did not want to deal with it. He had a feeling that he knew why that was so, but this was how it was supposed to be...

Right?


	5. Close To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betrayal, done two ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Inspiration: Close To You x Rihanna. Thank you for reading. Stay tuned for part 3/3 of this series.

Just who was Richard Price, anyway?

The name was familiar to T’Challa, simply because of his brief brush with him while doing an American mission—every so often, he’s asked for aid by other heroes, and the kingpin was bringing great strife to Puerto Rico. ‘Dice’ had a pretty full introduction of the Black Panther’s power that day, but T’Challa hadn’t seen him since. But now, news was spreading that the man had been murdered. One gunshot to the head at a near point-blank range was all it took, it seemed. He had just gotten out of prison on ‘good behavior’ and seemed to be focused on living the rest of his life in solitude. For some reason, the death bothered the King. So, he quietly investigated the possible assailant. None of Dice’s enemies were eligible, it seemed; all were either dead or pretty much under the jail at this point. So, T’Challa dug deeper. Apparently, Dice had millions of dollars on his head for bounty, and several assassins and contract killers had tried and failed to collect a fraction of the pot. Of all the names that came across T’Challa’s searches, one made his blood run cold: _Killmonger._

He was in America faster than his conscience could realize.

He and N’Jadaka argued about it, in which his cousin promptly gave the ultimate middle finger—seceding from Wakanda altogether and declaring that he’d create a country where he would be King. T’Challa could barely contain his anger about it; it felt like a spit in the face. After everything he endured and everything he had done to try to help towards a maddening cause, N’Jadaka seemed to go back to his old ways. This actually felt worse than the first time he was screwed over because for a moment, he thought that maybe things would be better. The worst part about it was that everyone was right. Every person who said he was too forgiving, everyone who said he was foolish for letting someone like that get so close to him after everything...they were absolutely right.

He had gotten back on the ship, his phone vibrating in his pocket before he took a seat in the cockpit. He glanced over the notification: _Hey, you’re probably up by now so...good morning to ya. Hope you have a good day._ From Chanel. He sighed softly before he sank in his seat, glancing up at the front of the ship. “Okoye,” He called.

“Yes, my king?”

“Drop me off in Washington D.C., please.”

T’Challa ignored the look he got from his soldier, and he relaxed in his seat as he felt the ship move. Maybe he was running from what he had to deal with at home, but there was another reason why he wanted to see Chanel. He needed to tie the ‘loose ends’ while he was in the country and had the balls to do so. It felt so wrong to call her that, though. Overall, he just felt...wrong. He was wondering how things would be if the two had never kissed, but the thought wasn’t entertained for very long. Although he was usually into self-reflection, he honestly didn’t regret anything that had went on between them. He valued their friendship over the more carnal parts, but he’d be lying if he felt that it didn’t make him see her differently. It was a feeling that was tearing him up from within, and he wished that he knew why.

The flight seemed shorter than it usually was, because T’Challa touched ground in an hour and a half instead of the usual two—Wakandan ships were fairly quick to start with, but he figured that Okoye could feel the urgency of his meeting. Either that, or she was sick of seeing him fidget in the cockpit. Either way, he was in front of Chanel’s door, hands itching and stomach flipping. When she opened the door, he was more than happy to see how delighted her face became. “Oh my God, hi ‘Chal,” Her voice was so sweet, filled with nothing but joy to see him. It was joy he was starting to feel as if he did not deserve.

They embraced each other warmly, his hands slowly running up and down the curve of her spine. “I was in the neighborhood...the country being the neighborhood, and I needed to see you,” He didn’t have time to come up with a lie. Right now, she was the only thing that could calm his restless nerves.

She offered him space in her room for the night, as long as he was careful not to wake Leon from his slumber. So T’Challa took the offer—he showered, he used up the clothes in the emergency overnight bag he usually had on the ship, and he spent the next couple of hours venting about the earlier argument with his cousin. Chanel never interrupted, but only listened as her nails raked through his hair and occasionally stroked his beard. When he finally ran out of insults to sling at N’Jadaka, he finally paused and realized his heart was racing. He didn’t realize how mad he really was.

“...Well,” Chanel chuckled rather nervously, obviously not used to T’Challa being upset.

“I apologize for lashing out, but I am just...” T’Challa frowned as he laid his head against her chest. “I feel silly. I reached out to him and this is how he repaid me. By screwing me over and bringing Leah into it. I know she will follow him, right or wrong. I just feel...so, so, silly,” He sighed.

“I mean...once a nigga, always a nigga,” Chanel shrugged, shifting under T’Challa so she could get comfortable. “Erik a different type of dude, and maybe that’s the problem. You and him have two different views; he’s just trying to do his own thing. It probably isn’t personal,” She said.

“After what my father did? It’s pretty personal,” T’Challa closed his eyes and let out a sigh. “I really hope things don’t end tragically. I’ve already told him what I would be forced to do in order to protect my country. Family or not, I cannot let what happened, happen again,” He said.

Chanel was quiet, and he felt kind of bad for even saying such a thing. It made him feel ruthless and oddly out of character. He didn’t want to hurt his family...as different as they were, there was still a want for a connection and a relationship that never got to flourish. Now, it seemed that it would never happen. “I’m sorry, baby,” He looked up at Chanel, whose eyes were burning into his. “I know this is hard for you.”

He hugged her close to him and he closed his eyes, sighing loudly. Hard didn’t even begin to describe it.

The next morning seemed to come quicker than expected—T’Challa was up by sunrise, to no surprise of his own. Even with the time difference, he was up with the sun and looking to do something similar to his routine at home. He usually ate breakfast after some meditation, but this time around, he’d have to make some food himself.

Quietly making his way to the common area of the home, the King stopped in his tracks to take a look around the home, allowing himself to soak in the atmosphere. Everything about it was very homey, and he felt this odd sense of warmth in the space. Photos were everywhere, as was Chanel’s influence—paintings by black artists and mock African artifacts, shelves full of cookbooks, novels, and self-help guides, an expansive DVD collection full of all the black movies he often heard about from his American cousin and his assistant, and the occasional toy that showed that a child lived in the home as well. It wasn’t until he accidentally came across her box of smoking items that he remembered why he was in the area to begin with.

He ’borrowed’ one of Chanel’s pre-rolled blunts to relax his jittery nerves, and found it much easier to cook that way. T’Challa raided her fridge and started on breakfast, quietly musing over his own thoughts, allowing his stress to melt with every cloud of smoke that escaped his lips and nostrils. He had cooked a healthy stack of strawberry pancakes and was getting to the scrambled eggs, when—

“How the fuck you gon’ smoke my blunt, hoe?”

He raised an eyebrow and glanced to his left, seeing Chanel leaning against the archway of her kitchen. T’Challa’s eyes briefly looked over the woman, stopping his gaze at where the end of her nightshirt rested against her thighs. Shaking his head, he fought off the idea of sitting her on the counter and having her as a pre-breakfast treat. “I needed to relax while I cook. I hope you don’t mind,” He watched as she came over, taking the blunt from his lips before taking a quick hit.

“I’ll let you live for now; partly because you look damn good cooking and smoking,” She smirked, and he tried not to give one of his own. Leave it to Chanel to boost his ego. “Don’t get no ashes in the food, though. I gotta go get Leon up and ready for pre-school,” She said, and T’Challa watched as she placed the blunt back between his lips.

“Wait,” He grabbed her waist just as she turned to leave him, and he heard her giggle as his lips softly laced her neck with kisses that seemed almost too tender, almost too loving. Then, she left him to cook the rest of the breakfast, his mind now swarming with more thoughts than previously.

He got down to the roach and put out the blunt by the time he finished breakfast—pancakes, eggs, and turkey sausage wasn’t a hard feat to cook, so he wondered if he was just smoking far too fast. He couldn’t make that a habit, or he’d be lifted all the time in that case.

“Mr. Challa!” He looked over his shoulder and grinned when he saw Leon running into the kitchen. “Hi, you made food?” The boy asked.

“I did. You like pancakes?” T’Challa grabbed a small plate made for a child, and chuckled softly when Leon nodded with excitement. “I do, too. I’ll make you a plate before you go to school.”

And that’s exactly what the King did. He made plates for both the boy and his mother, and they ate together...almost like a family. He even offered to take the kid to school, and took the scenic route just to listen to Leon prattle on about how much he looked up to Thor. That would be an _interesting_ conversation to have if T’Challa ever saw the man again.

When T’Challa returned to Chanel’s house, she had cleaned the kitchen and some of the house—he found her in her bedroom once he reached it, and she was still in her pajamas. “No work today?” He asked.

“Nope,” Chanel mumbled before she sat up in bed, crossing her legs Indian style. “So, what’s really up?” She asked, and T’Challa furrowed his brows.

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“You came all this way _just_ to tell me about Erik? I doubt it,” She shook her head. “And you’ve been tense since last night. There’s no way you’re that tense about this situation,” The girl was intuitive as fuck.

“...Okay,” T’Challa resigned before he sat down at the end of the bed. Silence roamed in the air before he finally confessed: “Nakia wants to get married.”

He expected so many things. Maybe Chanel would curse him out, or maybe she would even flip out physically. However, he just watched her shift uncomfortably in her seat and glance up at him with emotionless eyes. “Okay,” She said.

“Okay?”

“What else do you want me to say, T’Challa?”

T’Challa was rendered speechless again. What _did_ he want her to say? Was she supposed to beg for him not to go, or something similar? That was out of her character to do such a thing, and surely it was out of his to expect that from her. However, it just felt...empty. As if all they had been doing for nearly a year meant nothing to her. All the conversations, the bonding, the spine-tingling sex...it all meant nothing, it seemed. “I don’t know,” He finally said. “I was thinking something more than just, ‘okay.’”

“I knew what it was when I signed up for the shit,” Chanel seemed almost defensive as she spoke. “We both knew. We were merely waiting on Nakia to get her shit together. Now, she has, so we can’t fuck no more. It’s not that deep,” She said.

“I just can’t help but to feel like I’ve led you on,” He frowned. “I didn’t mean to, if that is how you feel,” He stopped talking when she held her hands up.

“Like I just said, I knew what it was. It was only a matter of time,” Chanel nodded, sitting back against the pillows behind her.

This still felt wrong, and he still felt like shit. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but he just felt as if he had to console the situation, somehow. Maybe he was overreacting, or maybe he was being overly responsible for feelings that Chanel might not have even felt. Maybe—

“Hey,” T’Challa didn’t even realize she had moved; she was sitting next to him now. “Don’t think about it. Thinking will fuck you up,” She ran a hand over his hair, and he frowned as he looked down at her, soaking in her beauty even in her most raw state.

“I cannot help it,” His voice came out hoarse.

The woman twisted her lips to the side, nodding briefly. “What will make you feel better?”

“...One last time...” Chanel’s face noticeably reddened, and the King bowed his head long enough to kiss her forehead. “Can we?”

The room seemed to still for a moment, and he watched as she slowly moved into his lap, her nails gently dragging down his arm once she was settled into him. She kissed him, and he felt flutters in the depth of his stomach. “Don’t do this to us, T’Challa,” It was the first time she ever attempted to deny him. “Don’t do this to yourself,” He felt sick.

He didn’t verbally respond—he kissed her instead. And he kissed her again, then again. Every kiss seemed more desperate than the last: a passionate meeting of lips, teeth, and tongue. He needed her now more than ever before, and he wasn’t sure how else to communicate how he was feeling. Her nails sunk deep into his arm, and his grunt got lost into her mouth. Their sexual encounters usually consisted of a power struggle between openly and subtly dominant parties—however, T’Challa had other plans on how he wanted to be remembered.

He pulled from her mouth and took a deep breath. “Stand up.”

Chanel stood to her feet, and he moved to stand in front of her before he reached to slip off her gown, tossing it to the side. He noticed that she was without her braids, leaving her shortened curls out to breathe. He ran his hands through her hair carefully, tilting her head back before planting a slow kiss to her lips, then down the side of her face towards her neck. He inhaled, taking in her scent before he closed his eyes, staying still as Chanel unbuttoned his shirt. He loosened his grasp on her long enough to slip off the shirt, and watched as she undid his jeans, and he stepped out of them before he glanced over her body, her panties being the only thing keeping him from seeing her complete body. The two locked eyes, and it was as if she already understood how he wanted this to go. She always seemed to understand.

He never kneeled for anyone, but he kneeled before her, lips pressed to her stomach as he slid his fingers under the material of her underwear, sliding them down those thick caramel legs that he had grown to become addicted to. He kissed along her hips, warm breath tickling over her smooth complexion and watching the goosebumps spread before he led her back to the bed. He crawled between her legs and was delighted that she was already wet—he tasted her, slowly and with feeling. She was his favorite meal. Soft moans seemed to come out of the woman with ease, and he laid her legs on his shoulders as his tongue lazily circled around her clit, down towards her entrance before he went back to the throbbing nub. He wanted to savor this, because he knew he’d never have it again.

So, he took his time, his licks slow and almost painfully teasing. He never allowed a drop to leave him, and if it did, he made up for it in tenfold in his own way. He stopped in the middle of his feast to kiss the insides of her thighs, the back of her calves, her ankles, her feet. He wanted to worship the entirety of her, and she seemingly allowed it despite the impatient moans and whimpers that came from her. He merely laughed, smoothing his hands over her hips when blazing eyes glared into his own. “I’m sorry,” He whispered. “Just be patient. I want to make love to you...please, allow me this.”

T’Challa’s fingertips slowly dragged down her stomach, and he could feel the muscles clench as head spread under her skin. The release of her tense muscles served as permission, and he nodded as he pressed his lips against her hip. He slowly rolled her onto her stomach, and he watched as she arched her back, her ass poking upwards and her lips pouting from between her thighs. He leaned in and kissed them passionately, the loud moan that came after causing his short nails to dig into her flesh. His moves became less calculated as moments passed, and he was soon straddling the line between trying to savor the moment and just wanting to dominate her completely. She was so alluring, so dangerous, so _delicious._ He couldn’t get enough of her, and it showed through the lingering and longing licks of his tongue as he explored her sensitivity. Her walls contracted around his tongue, and he closed his eyes as he pressed the tip of his tongue against her spot, holding her in place as he felt her sudden shivers and the flood of her blessing.

She tasted so sweet. She was so perfect.

He pulled away just long enough for her to move onto the pillows, and he watched her as he slid off his boxers, kicking them to the side before he moved between her thighs. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he pressed his forehead against hers before he slowly pressed himself inside her. It was the first time he had ever been inside her without a condom—she felt so warm, and divinely velvety. Every ridge of her seemed to mold to him without fail, and it took him a moment to come back down and prevent a preemptive burst.  He could hear the slow and sticky squashing of her cream as he stroked into her, his eyes never leaving hers. One hand pressed to the headboard, while the other stayed attached to her hip—his chest felt hot and he wasn’t sure if he had been breathing correctly, if at all.

It became easier to be inside her, and T’Challa picked up the pace only by a bit; he kept a slow and steady tempo, but the smacks of their bodies could be heard throughout the room. Their gazes never left each other, silence roaming between them sans the moans and grunts that tumbled out of their mouths. It was a wordless language that only pointed to one emotion, and it made the King realize just what was bothering him about this situation.

“Shit, ‘Chal,” His stomach turned at Chanel’s voice, and he watched her eyes shimmer. She blinked rapidly, small tears rolling down her face before he attempted to kiss them away with trembling lips. He felt his eyes sting, and he closed them tight, hiding his face in her neck as he pushed into her with more force. Her nails dug into his shoulder blades, and he shuddered when he heard her sob. They embraced each other, just like that, until he felt her walls hug him unbearably tight and her juices overwhelm him. He shot into her as he growled, teeth embedded into her neck and tears running down his face.

They said nothing as they pulled from each other. They showered together, changed the sheets, had lunch, and took a nap. All done in silence.

It was about one in the afternoon when it came time for Chanel to pick Leon up from school, and T’Challa made the decision to leave at that time. It was time to go home, and there was nothing else to be done here.

“Be careful going home,” Chanel said, closing the door behind them before locking the door. T’Challa gave a brief nod before the two looked at each other.

“You be careful driving on the road, too,” He instructed, and she cracked a small smile.

“I’m always careful,” She playfully argued, and they hugged briefly before he let out a small sigh. The two shared a soft kiss, and she gently tugged on his beard. The two kept their eyes on one another until a low hum resounded throughout the area.

T’Challa looked over his shoulder and sighed as he watched the invisible shield of his ship fall away, the door opening and waiting for his arrival. “I’ll see you around,” He said. It was his own form of torture, to attempt to leave hope where there was none.

“Yeah. I’ll see you,” Chanel flashed a smile, and T’Challa just stared her down. Nodding slowly, he turned around and he walked away, stepping onto the ship before the door closed.

He never looked back again.


End file.
